


on the bed of the soul, the waves escape

by rowenaaine



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Drinking, Eventual Relationships, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3508169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenaaine/pseuds/rowenaaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jim regretted them. He hadn’t intended to reveal such a thing to Oswald. Ever. </p><p>Oswald froze, one hand gripping the sofa arm, the other reflexively squeezing his bad knee.  “Wait…why are you here again?” the dark haired man asked, his hope plainly evident and rising thanks to Jim’s outburst.</p><p>Jim sighed and put the now empty glass down. "I shouldn’t have come.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the current

**Author's Note:**

> I am so in love with the Gobblepot fandom and this my first fanfic published. Ever. Please be gentle. Written first as an AU episode tag to The Scarecrow; not sure how many chapters to expect at this point but the boys don't seem to want me to wrap it up.

Jim was too keyed up after putting Leslie in the cab following their late dinner, so, shoving his hands in his coat pockets, he wandered the streets of Gotham to walk off the frustration.

The next time he looked up, he found himself standing in front of Fish Mooney’s cabaret; no longer Mooney’s of course, now Penguin's. In place of the garish red neon fish logo was a tastefully muted purple umbrella.

 _Oh, what the hell._   The detective shook his head and pushed the door open to check out the opening night festivities.

The decor was different from when he’d seen it a week ago – no longer bawdy dance hall, it was a modern nightclub with sophisticated lighting effects and a cosmopolitan feel.

The redone club, for all its tasteful charm, was only sparsely populated. Taking in the dimly lit room, he saw a few couples at tables and a handful of last-call revelers at the bar. The band - a sonic equivalent of thrash metal meets rockabilly - had just finished what must have been the last song of their set, because they left the stage without removing their equipment.

Gordon motioned the bartender over for a drink. “Did you have an early crowd?”

The young man shook his head sadly, as he poured the double Scotch. “I’m afraid Mr. Cobblepot isn’t taking it very well. He’s been in the office for the past two hours and won’t come out.”

“Shit,” Jim swore softly, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Would you mind if I went back there, um,” he peered at his name tag, “Gianni? I’m his…” _What am I exactly? Nemesis? Savior?_ “I'm…a personal friend of Oswald’s. I’d like to check up on him.” _Did I really just admit to being Penguin's friend?_

“What did you say your name was, Sir?” Gianni asked, looking skeptically at his customer.

“Jim, er, James Gordon.”

“Oh, Mr. Gordon!” he blurted out. “Yes. He did say he would see a Mr. James Gordon if he showed up. Did you bring your invitation?”

“I, uh, left it at the office. But I can show you identification.” He definitely didn’t want to flash his badge, and hoped he’d take his word for it. Then again, he’d gotten past the thugs at the door so he suspected he had already been deemed “safe.”

“Nah, that’s alright. Gabe!” A moment later, the bodyguard Jim had met the last time he had been to the club came around the corner.

“Mr. Gordon,” he rasped, thrusting his meaty paw in Jim’s direction. “Nice to see you again.” Jim shook the proffered hand.

“I’m…” _What the hell *am* I doing exactly?_ “…glad to see you Gabe. I stopped in to see Oswald.”

Gabe nodded sagely, and stage whispered, “He’ll be mighty appreciative you came by. Come with me.”

Jim quickly left the payment and tip with Gianni, and traipsed off after the lumbering bodyguard. “You know, Mr. Cobblepot takes things to heart and he’s really disappointed that there wasn’t more of a showing. Thinks it’s his fault, though I think it’s more like Don Falcone rushed the opening. Gave us just 12 hours to change the whole look of the place and get the invites out. Not big on advance planning, I guess.”

They stopped outside a heavy mahogany door that led to what was formerly Fish Mooney’s private office. Gabe pounded on the wood twice.

“Boss!” Gabe bellowed, “I got Jim Gordon here for you. Do you want I should…”

Before Gabe could finish the question, Oswald Cobblepot threw the door open. “ _Jim Gordon_.” Cobblepot said the name with such reverence; it seemed more a prayer than a greeting. He stared astonished, as if Gordon’s presence was a mirage. “You _came_.”

Jim took in the smaller man’s appearance. Cobblepot’s normally pale face was blotchy and his eyes were swollen. He might have actually been crying at some point in the evening. His suit jacket was off and he self-consciously smoothed his waistcoat under Gordon’s gaze.

“Can I get you a table? A drink?”

Jim held up his glass with a slight smile.

“Ah, I see we’ve already taken care of you. Thank you, Gabe. That will be all for now. James. Old friend,” Oswald stepped aside with a flourish, “please come in.”

Jim nodded at Gabe who quietly ambled away, and entered Oswald’s plush office as the smaller man closed and locked the door behind them. “Didn’t redecorate in here yet?”

Oswald let out an indelicate snort as he took Jim’s coat. “There was barely time to change out the drapes and get blood off the carpet before the doors opened, much less overhaul _this_ mess.” He stopped short in embarrassment. “James. Forgive my tone. It’s been a…challenging day. Challenging _week_ , actually,” he muttered.

Jim let the comment about the bloody carpet go, and turned to face his dejected host. He felt a pang of emotion at Oswald’s downcast expression.

“What’s wrong, Oswald?”

Oswald sank into the couch with a sigh, stretching his lame right leg out as he rubbed at the muscle above his knee. “The never-ending drama that is my life.” He dropped forward and put his head in his hands. “First, my former patron Don Maroni tried to eliminate me and i barely escaped his brutal clutches…”

“Wait, what?!” Gordon strode across the room and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of Cobblepot, leaning in to look him over. “Are you hurt?”

The smaller man looked up in surprise at Gordon’s sudden nearness and concerned tone.

“N-no. No, Jim. Thank you. No, I’m not injured. Well, perhaps my pride. I have been punished for hubris more than once of late. I’ll spare you the details but suffice it to say Fish Mooney is alive and well. She's the one who contacted Maroni and spilled some of my secrets and he, in turn, made arrangements to dispose of me. I outwitted him and for my troubles – and my allegiance – Don Falcone gifted me the club,” he shrugged, leaning his head against the back of the sofa.

“Jesus Christ. So now Mooney and Maroni  _both_  want you dead.”

“Yes. In a nutshell.” 

“As much as I admire your ability to get out of shit situations with that silver tongue of yours, would you please stop getting beaten or threatened with death, Cobblepot?” Gordon ground out, clenching his jaw.

Oswald laughed lightly and patted the sofa cushion next to him. Jim eyed the hand warily, but moved to sit beside his host.

“Anyway, I had hardly any time to clean up and redecorate. You see, Falcone made it perfectly clear the club could not retain the look of Mooney’s place but insisted we turn it around in one day and re-open. We barely got to deliver all the invitations. Thank goodness Gabe handled that while I supervised the renovations.” At Jim’s raised eyebrow, Oswald sheepishly amended, “Alright, most of the renovations. As you well know, I did deliver _one_ invite personally.”

“You didn’t have to do that…”

“Yes. So you said. You made it clear you wouldn’t be attending.” Jim ducked his head and took a gulp of his drink. “So, why are you here, Jim Gordon? To mock my spectacular failure?”

“Mock…of course not! I thought for sure this place would be mobbed.” At Oswald’s knowing smirk, Jim added, “no pun intended.”

“Yes, well, with barely 6 hours’ notice, I could hardly expect much of a turnout. But one person who did show up was my former employer Sal Maroni. And his threats were so politely offered, it was a shame he didn’t stay longer to carry them out. He did waste a very expensive bottle of champagne on my freshly cleaned carpet.”

Oswald closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Jim could see red pinpricks dotting the other man’s eyelids spreading outward to his cheeks – either from a recent bout of drinking, crying or – more likely – both. “But I’m officially and publicly in Don Falcone’s employ now. For what it’s worth.”

“Not much,” Jim groused. “Oswald, I don’t suppose I have to tell you that you are in grave danger again do I?”

“James, I’m touched by your eye for the obvious.”

“Damn it, Cobblepot, why do you make me…”

“Make you what exactly, detective?” Oswald’s head jerked up in annoyance. “Scorn me? Rescue me? Chast…”

“ _Care_ about you!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jim regretted them. He hadn’t intended to reveal such a thing to Oswald. Ever.

Oswald froze, one hand gripping the sofa arm, the other reflexively squeezing his bad knee.

“Wait…why are you here again?” Oswald asked, his hope plainly evident and rising thanks to Jim’s outburst.

Jim sighed and put the now empty glass down.

“I shouldn’t have come.” When he moved to stand, Oswald put a hand on his wrist to keep him in place.

“Please, Jim. I need to know,” Oswald urged.

“I. I was in the neighborhood?” Jim tried to laugh it off, and failed miserably. Oswald waited patiently, expression unchanged.

Jim looked into Cobblepot’s sea green eyes and felt part of his resistance melt. “Fine. I was out for a walk and realized I wanted to see your club and give you my congratulations in person. And after I saw the dubious turnout, I…was…well, _worried_ about you.”

Oswald’s hand hadn’t moved and Jim remained seated, making no effort to remove it. The two men looked at each other for a long time, and Oswald feared Jim could hear how hard his heart was pounding.

“You were the one person I really wanted here tonight,” he murmured, turning slightly in his seat and familiarly straightening Jim’s tie before catching himself and returning his hands to his own lap. Jim was motionless and didn’t even raise an eyebrow at the gesture, showing where his own head was. “I wanted to share my 'moment' with you," the dark haired man chuckled, now embarassed. "I wanted your presence to ground me and...” he trailed off, glancing from Jim’s tie to his eyes, and finally a point somewhere across the room. “Truth be told, I just…wanted _you_.” Oswald bit his lip and lowered his gaze in a way that Jim found strangely compelling.

“With your confidence? Why would you want  _me_ for that, Oswald?” Jim asked, the amount of alcohol in his system delaying his read of the situation.

Oswald didn’t answer immediately. On a sigh, he said, “Jim. I suspect my phrasing has not accurately reflected my sentiments.”  After examining his fingers, his eyes met Jim’s again, but this time, they reflected an unguarded intimacy. “I wanted you here because…I  _want_ you,” he managed, voice strangled but audible.

After a beat of uncomfortable silence during which Jim’s cheeks and ears flushed bright red, he felt his undeniable attraction to Oswald literally flood his senses. The sensation was almost dizzying in its strength. 

Defensively, Jim pushed through the unwelcome feelings and brusquely asked, “Have you been drinking?”

Oswald paused, stunned, before letting out a bark of laughter.

“Really, Jim? You think _that’s_ the reason I would admit to such feelings?” He inclined his head, still smiling, although a subtle hurt registered in his expression. “Surely you have already surmised how I feel about you. I’ve not been particularly opaque, have I?”

“Oswald…” The detective shook his head, but again failed to even flinch when Oswald touched him again, this time by laying a gentle hand on his jacket sleeve.

“Is it…are you and Barbara together again?”

Jim looked pointedly at Oswald’s slender fingers and then met the man’s eyes. “This isn’t about Barbara.”

“Of course. My apologies. I’m just trying to understand whatever obstacle would prevent you from admitting…this electricity that passes between us. I know I can’t be the only one who feels it whenever we come together.”

Jim shook off Cobblepot’s hand and stood abruptly. “I’ll admit no such thing! Where do you get these ideas? Here I am, trying to be the friend that you _say_ you want, and…”

“No, you are _NOT_!” Oswald stood as well, kicking an impatient foot at the table leg. “Today you outright rejected my professional offer of help and then added insult to injury by refusing a personal invitation to my grand opening. Then, after declining, you show up here anyway – after midnight – and catch me in the most dismal state of mind, and…and…do _you_ even know why you came here? Maybe you pity me. Maybe you thought better of cutting me off and just wanted to ensure I’ll continue giving you intel to keep your solve rate up.” Gordon started to open his mouth, but Oswald kept talking and advancing. “Though, you know what I think? Maybe – just maybe – you came here tonight because you are drawn to me. These unbidden feelings for me that _you can’t deal with_ drive your passive-aggressive attitude, which you use to pull me near while holding me at arms’ length. But whatever your reasons, Jim Gordon, you _didn’t_ come here trying to be the ‘friend I say I want’. That’s just a blatant falsehood.”

Gordon stared at Oswald through this exchange, becoming more horrified by the moment. _Is that what I'm doing? Do I do this push-and-pull thing with him deliberately?_ Damned if Cobblepot hadn’t precisely summed up Jim’s own fucked up thoughts in a few highly perceptive sentences. Cobblepot was uncannily – and frighteningly – intuitive. _Especially_ when reading James Gordon. 

“I don’t even…what am I supposed to say to all that?” Gordon mumbled flatly, not denying anything.

Oswald seemed to take a moment to think about it, as if the question posed hadn’t been a rhetorical one. Then, an idea dawned on him and he got an unpleasant look on his face.

“Hmm. You were on a date earlier this evening, weren’t you?” Oswald mused, smiling cruelly at the resulting confusion on Jim Gordon's face. "What an interesting thought. You go on a date but end up visiting me?" He put his hand over his heart, and smirked. "Now I'm really touched."

...


	2. the undertow

Jim was completely thrown by the change in direction, and stared at Penguin like he was an Arkham escapee.

“Wha-what? Where did _that_ come from?”

“You’re dressed far too nice to have come from working a case, unless of course, the case interrupted your date. If I recall correctly, there was a decidedly feminine fragrance wafting from the collar of your overcoat.” Oswald limped haughtily over to where Jim’s coat was draped over a chair back. “So, you struck out with your latest lady friend and then showed up here to work out your sexual frustration by toying with me? How thoughtful of you!" Oswald's voice was filled with a cold disdain that Jim had not had directed at him before. "Well, thank you but that will be quite enough of that. I think it’s time you took your leave.” He sniffed the coat exaggeratedly and then held it out for Jim as if it were a dead cat.

“You _have_ been drinking, haven’t you?” Jim retorted angrily, grabbing the coat. “You’d never have the balls to throw around all these accusations…”

“Hypotheses. Observations,” Oswald interjected, calmly holding up a hand. Although to be fair, he was pretty wasted.

“Fine, throwing your _observations_ …at me in a sober state. You’re far too falsely polite for that.”

“I believe that is called 'manners', thank you very much. Something which is sorely lacking in our society. But do you know what? Today was one of the worst days _fucking ever_. So, you must excuse me if I lower my standards and drop my normal etiquette. Regardless of whether I’ve had a _glass_ or a _bottle_ or a _case_ of champagne, I am going to tell you exactly what’s on my mind right now, James Gordon: I am tired of beating around the bush; tired of trying to draw the barest hint of a smile from you whenever we speak; tired of trying to convince you I am sincere in my attitude toward you; tired of trying to establish a level playing field to foster this _thing_ between us; tired of dancing around an attraction that I know is not merely a product of my fertile imagination.”

Dumbfounded, Jim just stood clutching his coat, any smart comeback dying in his throat as he realized how serious – and how _right_ – Oswald was.

“Jim. You _know_ how I feel. You’ve known for a good while now. For God’s sake, my own mother saw us for barely five minutes and _knew_.”

Of course Mrs. Kapelput knew. Oswald practically wrestled Jim from her grasp that afternoon to regain his full attention. And Jim would have been lying if he said he hadn’t loved every twisted minute of it.

“Is it that you worry people will think you less of a man if you associate with someone of questionable sexuality?”

“What? No! Absolutely not! I don’t have issues with a person’s sexuality or gender.”

“So, you wouldn’t reject someone on the basis of gender alone? Hm?”

“N-no. No, I would not.” _What the hell am I admitting to? Shut up Gordon!_

“So, might you, in fact, be interested in men? Because…”

Jim shook his head in disbelief.

“Is that a no? Or…”

“It’s a ‘no, we’re not having this conversation’,” Jim muttered. He shoved his arms into his coat sleeves and walked toward the office door.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“I don’t _have_ to answer you.” Jim turned back to find Oswald right behind him. They were now practically nose to nose. “Are you conducting an interrogation? Because I’m used to being on the other side of those.”

“Play along, Jim. You’re in _my_ house.” Cobblepot’s tone had turned icy, and in response Jim felt compelled to answer with complete truthfulness.

“Fine! Yes, I’ve been attracted to men so…does that make me gay? Bi? I don’t know! Maybe. I’ve never…but…” Jim felt his face heat up, but whether with anger or embarrassment he could no longer be sure. “…hell, I can’t _talk_ about this!” Jim felt his stomach sink with every damning word; and yet he was powerless in the face of Oswald’s own brutal honesty.

Oswald nodded and took a step back. “Fair enough. Let’s say you _wouldn’t_ reject someone out of hand on the basis of their gender. It then must be that, contrary to our irrefutable chemistry, you actually find me utterly repulsive and couldn’t bear the thought of me…”

“For Christ’s sake, Oswald, stop! Jesus, we both know _that’s_ not it.”

The gangster nodded crisply, finally satisfied with the response.

Jim closed the gap between them, took the shorter man by the shoulders and spoke through gritted teeth. “Listen to me, Oswald. You’re a criminal. I’m a cop.”

Oswald stared up at the taller man, waiting for the rest of the argument. When Jim saw that his words had no impact, he made an impatient sound and shook Oswald gently.

“What part of those two diametrically opposed viewpoints don’t you get? How can I just ignore the fact that I’m sworn to protect the city from people like you?”

“Oh, quite easily,” Cobblepot answered softly. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” Oswald chanced resting his hands on Jim’s waist. Oswald felt he had won a victory when Jim squirmed but did not pull away. “You don’t ask. I don’t tell. I continue to give you information. You take said information and do whatever you must to solve your cases. We keep further…benefits…of our arrangement completely private. Status quo. More or less.”

“More or less?” Jim scoffed. “And keep it private? Just pretend we’re…? Not…No. I can’t.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

“I…My god, you are infuriating! Do you badger everyone you’re interested in?”

“No, only you.”

“Well, the tactic needs work.”

“No doubt,” Oswald agreed. He cocked his head in thought. “You know, if you’re _afraid_ …”

“Afraid?” Gordon roared, spinning Cobblepot around and nearly slamming him into the wall. “Damn right I’m afraid!” Oswald held on to Gordon for dear life, but he refused to cringe at the show of violence. “Afraid everyday that today is the day your dead body is waiting for me at the latest crime scene? I’ve had that fear already for months; you want to compound it by getting involved with each other?”

“That works both ways, you know,” Oswald retorted, pushing back against Gordon but not letting go. “How often do police officers die in the line of duty? This is Gotham! You don’t think I worry about what could happen to you out there? And we're already involved. I can offer you protection!”

Panting with exertion, anger and frustration, Jim thought briefly about ending this madness by punching Cobblepot in the face and walking out. Then he felt lithe fingers at his waist tighten; felt Oswald’s thumbs dip under his shirt and stroke the tender skin at his waistband and couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath as his already half-hard cock twitched in interest.  _Manipulative bastard._

“I don’t _want_ your prote-” Jim’s words died with a groan when Oswald dug his thumbs into the soft flesh beside Jim’s hipbones – hard enough to leave bruises.

Oswald licked his lips reflexively, watching the detective’s gray-blue eyes flutter shut and reopen, dilated pupils fixing on his own.

“God, Jim,” Oswald whispered, rubbing his thumbs in circles over Jim’s bare skin, “If you could see how you look right-…”

“D-don’t,” Gordon interrupted hoarsely. He tried shushing him, but only managed to conjure hot air across Oswald’s forehead. “Oswald, you _do_ realize we…couldn’t possibly make it work, don’t you?”

Oswald sensed Jim giving in when his words ended in a question and he seemed to draw ever closer. Not one to miss such subtleties, Oswald canted his hips forward until he knew Jim could feel his own arousal.

“I realize no such thing,” Oswald insisted, staring into Jim’s blown pupils. “I know only what I see. And _feel_ ,” he added, punctuating his remark with a shallow thrust of hips. “Admit it. You feel what I feel,” he murmured breathily into Jim’s ear.

Trembling with raw need, impossibly turned on by the smug young man pressing against him, Jim shoved Oswald up against the wall again.

“Admit that if nothing else, you do like pushing me arou– mmph.”

Oswald’s smart remark was truncated when Jim grabbed his face roughly and crushed their lips together in a searing kiss. Oswald’s arms tightened around Jim’s back as the other man plundered his mouth, all teeth and tongue and angry passion. Oswald automatically parted his lips to let Jim control the act until a semblance of equilibrium settled between them – a subtle shift in balance – and only then did the shorter man return the kiss with an equally violent fervor, dropping his hands to cup Jim’s ass through his trousers and grind against him. Oswald allowed himself this moment – this one instance – to pour a lifetime of denied feelings into this unlikely embrace so that if it were never to happen again, there would be no mistaking how completely he craved Detective James Gordon. No regrets.

After what felt like an eternity but still not nearly long enough, Jim drew back to catch his breath.

“Mm. Looks like we found a way to shut you up, Oz.”

Oswald chuckled at the nickname, breathing heavily while massaging the small of Gordon’s back with his fingertips.

“Oh, you think so?” he teased between pants. “Do you think that's all it takes, Detective?”

“Nah, just coming up for air, Cobblepot.”

“Well, then. I’ll have you know I can hold my breath for over five minutes.”

Jim huffed out a laugh as he leaned his forehead against Oswald’s. “Now _that_ I believe.”

***

There was little doubt Oswald would be sporting quite the hickey on his neck the next day and Jim fared no better – he had a sizable love bite at the base of his throat after their makeout session - which was paused only to relocate from the wall to the sofa to give Oswald's tired leg a rest. 

“Oswald,” Jim whispered, blowing softly in his ear to get his attention.

“Hm?”

“I should go.”

Oswald leaned away drowsily, clinging to Jim’s shirt like a limpet. “Must you?”

“Mm. I think so. Time for you to get some real sleep anyway.”  Oswald yawned as he shook his head in protest, and they both laughed.

“You’ll let one of my people take you home?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s fine.”

The two men quietly set their disordered clothing right and after walking Jim to the door, Oswald tugged on his elbow to turn him around. Jim went easily, no longer denying the sway the other man held over him. “We can make something work, James. I’ll prove it to you.”

“You’re impossible, Oswald,” Gordon said with a smile.

“Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t believe in impossible. _Anything_ is possible in Gotham.”

”You call or text,” he whispered roughly into the gangster’s ear, “but do not come to the precinct. Do we understand each other?” The other man nodded and met Jim’s eyes in acquiescence.

“Be good, James.”

“Mm. Good luck with the club. And be safe.”

Oswald primly nodded and stepped back.

Jim unlocked the door and tugged it open. “Even the door frame is warped,” Oswald muttered from behind him and Jim could only smirk as he headed down the hall to find Gabe and a ride.

***

Several whirlwind days passed at the GCPD before Leslie asked Jim to the circus. Their date was busted up by a bizarre circus-style family feud which was seemingly tied to a brutal murder. The murder case was grueling and ultimately depressing, but once it was solved, Leslie invited Jim to spend the night at her place. Nothing like death and lack of sleep to spur a desire for connection. Not that Jim hesitated. Far from it. He hadn’t gotten properly laid since before Barbara left, more than two months ago. He definitely needed the stress relief.

But while Jim should have been focusing on his new bedmate – the beautiful medical examiner – his thoughts kept wandering to Oswald Cobblepot. He kept seeing the contrast between the boy’s alabaster skin and raven locks; the piercing aqua eyes, delicate cheekbones and cocky smirk; features that were wholly the opposite of Lee’s exotic look; her caramel tone, soft gaze and gentle smile. When Jim closed his eyes for a moment and imagined Oswald beneath him rather than Lee, the violence of his orgasm overwhelmed him; he muffled his startled cry in Lee’s hair, barely able to look her in the eye afterward.  Of course, his lover suspected nothing awry and shortly fell asleep in the detective’s arms. 

Jim did not rest so easy. As he lay awake, he belatedly wondered why he hadn't heard from Penguin.

 


	3. tidal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a transitional chapter to bring the story up through "Everyone Has a Cobblepot." Brief spoilers and references to the episode, if you haven't seen it.

Oswald Cobblepot's stomach fluttered far more than it should have when he finally got the text message. It had been exactly 8 days since his club opening, and Oswald had refused to be the one to reach out first. The text was about work, of course, but that was of little consequence. Contact was contact; he couldn’t bring himself to care the reason.

**_Hi. Mind if I come by re: a case?_ **

The morning after that fateful visit, Oswald awoke still dressed and with a horrible hangover, abashed at his initial memory of what had happened. _This is why you don’t drink to excess, Oswald._ Naturally he could be demanding, _deadly_ even, in his business dealings; that’s what organized crime required. But never had he been so forward or bold in interpersonal relations. To think, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot pressing the issue in such a way! 

**_Of course James. Best time between 3-5 pm if possible._ **

Oswald was outwardly a passive man; his conciliatory (some would say groveling) manner served him well. But he was not weak of character. He was fiercely proud. And when his pride had been injured by the one man who could truly break him, the influence of demon alcohol and the right set of circumstances spurred him on to confront that very man.

His words and actions shocked Oswald (those leading up to the moment Jim Gordon kissed him, at least), but at the same time, he was thrilled that such an unplanned and reckless power play had actually worked.

The days after The Event (yes, in his head that memorable night was capitalized – and certainly not in regard to his club opening) were spent glancing far too many times at a cell phone that refused to ring or vibrate. But he did not give in. What helped him resist was the fact that he did, indeed, read the newspaper. He knew all too well the GCPD had their hands full with this Snake Lady Murder case (circus people, ugh) and of course, his favorite homicide detective was no doubt deeply embroiled in the situation along with whatever other cases he was wrapping up. No. Oswald would bide his time. _James will come to me again._

**_Will do. Thx. J._ **

And so he had.

Oswald nodded to himself, put the phone in his jacket pocket and locked his office before heading out on the floor to survey the first shift. He was startled by the buzzing at his hip as he spoke to the shift supervisor, but waited until he was sure his orders were understood and being carried out before retrieving the offending electronic device from his pocket.

**_Hope you’ve been well, Oz. Crazy days here._ **

Gordon’s out-of-character follow-up text made Oswald grin as stupidly as if he had won the lottery.

**_I can only imagine. I am indeed well as I hope you are too. See you soon. :-)_ **

The club owner quickly hit send and made an effort to focus on his work. He needed his head in the game.

***

Harvey Bullock escorted Miriam Loeb into the living room to await the patrol car’s arrival from Gotham, while Gordon checked over the fragile-looking Cobblepot for any injuries.

"Stand still."

"I-I'm fine. Really, J-Jam...um, Detective," Cobblepot stammered, straightening his spine as Gordon scrutinized his expression.

“Can’t you just stay out of trouble for five minutes? How is it I turn my back and you’re immediately involved in a scuffle?” Jim shook his head in mock annoyance as Oswald stared at him morosely.

“That’s terribly unfair of you, James. Four of you shooting at one another while I was left to crawl off and hide? Remember, I wanted to wait in the car!"

"I know." Jim drew nearer, resting a reassuring hand on the shorter man's shoulder and unable to suppress a smile.

"Then, you leave me alone with a…a…crazed elderly couple! They were stronger than they looked and quite s-spry. Their recovery time-“

“Hey!”

Both men jumped, none too subtlely. Gordon quickly slid his hand down Cobblepot's lapel as if to smooth it and took a step back. Oswald let out a shaky breath.

“You know, I could just cancel the black and white,"  Harvey groused from the doorway. "I’d just as soon babysit Ms. Loeb here myself if it gets me out of listening to you two whining at each other the whole way home.”

“Very funny, Harv,” said Jim, a touch too loudly. Oswald had a different reaction.

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“ _Whining_ , Cobblepot. I can’t handle two hours of you guys fussin' at each other like a goddamn married couple.” He turned to Gordon. “Get it out of your systems now, or I swear your little snitch is riding in the trunk after all.” Bullock went back inside to check on the Commissioner’s daughter, who appeared to be weaving a macramé bracelet out of a lace table runner and butcher's twine.

As soon as the older detective was out of his field of vision, Jim shot a glance at Oswald and snickered at his affronted expression.

“Oh, do you find him humorous, Jim?” Cobblepot pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jim shook his head and busied himself by brushing imaginary lint from Oswald's suit jacket. “Nope. Not humorous at all.”

Gordon then moved passed him with a wink to check on Bullock and Ms. Loeb. Oswald's lips quirked into a smile and he followed behind.

***

It was just as well that Harvey Bullock drove them back to Gotham. As much as Oswald would have loved riding home alone with Jim, the situation dictated that Oswald had some rather pressing business to attend to at the club. Business that arrived about two hours before he did, and which required Gabe’s unique clean-up and vehicle dumping skills once concluded.

After all, it wouldn’t do for Don Falcone to find out Penguin had inadvertently given a valuable bargaining chip like Miriam Loeb to the GCPD.

***

Gordon, Bullock, Leslie and Ed Nygma were going over some forensic evidence when Jim got a text alert. The detective glanced at the display and snatched it off the tabletop as soon as he realized it was from Cobblepot.

**_Quite delightful spending time with you the other evening. We must do it again sometime without your ill-mannered partner._ **

Jim quickly typed a reply.

**_Ditto. Agreed._ **

Harvey, of course, took that moment to comment on Jim's distraction. "Hey. Asshat. We're supposed to be solving a case. You got somethin' better goin' on?"

Before he could make a snarky retort, Jim's phone rang. "Gotta get this," he mouthed at Bullock, while grimacing in apology in Leslie's direction.

“Gordon," he answered cheerily before slipping out into the hallway. He then lowered his voice. "How are you doing? Everything OK?"

"Yes, I'm well, thank you. All rested after that lovely road trip. Is this a good time, Jim?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"Nothing in particular. It was just so good to see you, I didn't want to let a full week go by without our speaking again."

Gordon felt a pang of guilt. "Yeah, sorry about that. It was totally my fault that I waited so long and let the time get away from me."

"No, no! Quite alright. Really. But it would be nice to sit and chat like civilized men. Perhaps you could drop by the club this week. Maybe lunchtime. We don't officially open until 5 but you're welcome to stop in anytime before that and I'll make sure the kitchen staff are prepared."

"Hmm." Gordon pondered the idea briefly before glancing through the window at his coworkers, one of whom was, after all, his new girlfriend. "I'll do you one better, Oz. Is there any night you can get away from the club for dinner?"

Cobblepot was stunned into silence.

"Oz?" Jim hissed, hoping he hadn't lost the connection before he lost his nerve.

"Y-yes, I'm here James. Well, it so happens that I now have a manager quite capable of running things in my absence. When did you have in mind?"

Bullock chose that moment to fling open the door.

"Boy Scout! You comin' back anytime soon? We got shit to do."

Gordon forced a smile and held up one finger. "Look, can I call you back tonight? We can firm things up then?"

"Of course. I hear the boorish clod requesting your presence. Ring when you can, text if you can't. Take care, Jim."

"You too. Bye." To Harvey, he quipped, “can’t I take a call in peace?”

“Not unless it’s the captain, cuz your partner – that would be ME – and your girlfriend – SHE – are both here with you. How important could it be?”

“Oh, I see. I didn’t realize my world revolved around both of you.”

Harvey shook his head in disgust and went back in, while Jim trailed quietly behind him.

***

“Jim,” Leslie approached him after they broke for lunch, “is everything alright? You seem a little preoccupied.”

“Everything’s fine, Lee. Just have a few things to take care of.”

“Alright. Want to have dinner tonight at my place? No take out involved, I’ll cook. We can talk, too.”

Jim had the decency to feign disappointment. “Uh, I can’t tonight, Lee. I have a lead I want to pursue and I don’t think I’ll be home before 8. Maybe later in the week, ok?” He didn't note the downcast expression on Lee's face, nor the way she narrowed her eyes at his "lead pursuing." Frankly, she wondered if he was rekindling things with Barbara Kean. 

 


	4. siren song

They’d agreed to meet at a bar and grill in the Bowery. Not Gordon’s usual neighborhood, but a place he had frequented on occasion – especially because it was not known as a cop hangout. He’d asked that Cobblepot “wear something casual.” Lord knew what that might turn out to be, but he was too easily recognizable in those tailored suits he wore.

The day he’d asked Oswald to dinner, Jim had thought all day about not only _where_ to go, but _when_. Sundays were probably a good choice for a slow night at the club, but he frankly didn’t want to wait that long. Oswald offered up Thursday as a pick, so two days after the date was made (two days of putting Lee off again), Jim was seated at the bar at the Fish Eye Grill, staring into the bottom of his Jim Beam on the rocks. Nervous as a schoolgirl.

At 7 sharp, he caught a whiff of the familiar cologne before Oswald Cobblepot slid onto the bar stool next to him; light and woodsy, yet smoky and spicy. The perfect blend of contrasts.  _I need to find out what that fragrance is..._

Oswald ordered a Manhattan and then turned to Gordon. The young man’s attire did not disappoint. He had left behind the fancy duds, opting to wear a pair of charcoal gray slacks and white collared shirt with a navy blue pullover sweater. If anything, Oswald looked collegiate; not at all like a gangster. His hair was, as usual, impeccably gelled to look fashionably unkempt, and he carried a navy blue umbrella with a wooden handle. He certainly showed up Jim's jeans and dress shirt.

“Good to see you, Jim.” Oswald offered Gordon his hand and an incredibly genuine smile. Gordon noticed how cool and soft the younger man’s hand felt in his own, and he found himself holding on just a beat too long; giving it a quick squeeze before returning his hand to his drink.

“Same here, Oswald. You clean up nice, you know.”

Cobblepot smirked, nodding at the bartender and taking a sip of his own freshly prepared beverage. “When you said casual, I realized that to most people that means jeans. I don’t own a pair of jeans, though, so I’d hoped this would be suitable.”

“Don’t… _own_ a pair? Seriously?” Gordon laughed despite himself, quite enjoying uncovering any aspect of Cobblepot that he didn’t already know.

“I know, seems unnatural. But I never found comfort in wearing them. I had a few pairs when I was younger, but I just didn’t like the fabric or the construction.” The dark haired man shrugged, swirling his glass before plucking out the cherry. Gordon watched fixedly as Oswald put the cherry between his lips, tugged the stem free, and placed the refuse on the edge of his napkin. “What are you drinking tonight?” he asked, after he'd chewed and swallowed the fruit.

“Bourbon, rocks. Nothing fancy. Don’t generally like fruit salad in my drinks,” he chuckled.

“Laugh if you please, but the Manhattan was the first alcoholic drink to be modified with vermouth. Even before the Martini. This is a glimpse of liquor history, right here, James Gordon.” Cobblepot leaned closer. “Care to try it?”

Gordon looked back and forth between the young man’s blue-green eyes and the amber liquid. “Fine. Why not?”  The detective sipped at the drink; Cobblepot’s eyes watched his lips and Adam’s apple, obviously admiring the view.  Gordon slid the glass back toward its owner, and murmured, “Not bad. Something tells me I’d enjoy it better in a kiss than in a glass.”

Oswald blinked, digesting Gordon’s words and feeling a blush creep along his cheeks. “Hm. I look forward to testing that theory out.”

Both men turned their attention back to their own drinks, sitting companionably in silence for a few minutes.

“Are you hungry?” Jim finally asked, glancing sideways at Oswald. The younger man nodded, and the pair moved to a booth toward the back of the bar area.

***

Jim’s choice of pub food was in the hopes that there was enough variety for Oswald to find something to eat. Having no idea what types of meals the man enjoyed, it was as good a guess as any.  Luckily, the menu was actually a little more progressive than the last time Jim had visited, and Oswald ended up ordering a grilled tuna burger with horseradish aioli on a ciabbata roll and sweet potato fries. Jim went with the ‘Brit Burger’, which was beef marinated in A1 Steak sauce and loaded with cheddar and crispy onions with a side of regular fries. Judging by the way they both devoured their meals, they were as hungry as the food was good.

The conversation was also good. Jim shared some of his army experiences, and talked about his growing up in Gotham (in the Heights, along the river).  Oswald, it turns out, grew up on the lower east side in a mostly Ukrainian-Polish neighborhood where his mom still kept an apartment that he shared when he wasn't staying at the club. Jim learned a little about Oswald’s love of cooking, how he’d always aspired to own a chain of restaurants, and yes, how he started out quite young running errands for neighborhood bookies until he rose through the ranks.

“Jim, it simply never occurred to me to work in an occupation other than what you call ‘organized crime.’ My mother couldn’t afford to send me to college; I certainly wasn’t the type to enlist in the service.  I could cook, but any restaurant worth its menu was in some way connected to the mob.”

Gordon visibly cringed, but somehow found himself sympathizing with Oswald’s situation.

“It was a necessity from Day 1 to get in good with La Cosa Nostra. My own ethnic group was not concentrated enough to have power, so I aligned myself with Italian Mafioso at every stage of my employment.”

“When I was overseas I'd heard that the mob had all but lost its presence in Gotham.” Jim, by participating in such a level discussion, seemed to lose some of his innate hostility toward Gotham’s crime syndicate. “Imagine my surprise when I came back from the war and found that Falcone was practically running City Hall.”

“Yes, well,” Oswald took a sip of his drink, “there was a period where the families had fought so hard amongst themselves, it seemed they would dismantle each other from the inside out. But after the terrorist attacks, the crime bosses unilaterally called for peace. They made amends with one another, drew up concessions, and came together stronger than ever. It was quiet but insidious. They pushed out infiltrators, created more jobs, and revitalized the most badly weakened parts of the city. They went from a fractured dozen or so mini-mobs to four primary families. Then three, now two. You may not appreciate their lust for power and their penchant for violence, but ultimately they pulled the city back up by its boot straps.”

Gordon had never heard it put quite that way, and the shock showed on his face.

“Ah, so they’ve had you drinking the kool-aid, Detective Gordon. Believe me when I tell you that I admire you completely for your integrity and sense of justice. I truly do think you are one of a kind. But Gotham will eat you up and spit you out, my friend. And things are changing rapidly every day. That’s why I hope we can continue our business alliance in addition to any personal arrangement. I can help you navigate the waters.”

Smiling, Jim shook his head as he waved the waitress over. “I’ll have a Diet Coke. Do you want another Manhattan?”

“Oh, no, no. I couldn’t. I’ll have a Ginger Ale. I wish to keep my head about me.”

“I just don’t see how the city can thrive under these circumstances you’ve described.”

“Jim, it is simple economics. Organized crime is not petty thievery. It’s big business. The best families are basically management consulting firms. They control the commerce in and out of the area.”

“But, doesn’t it end up costing more? More money, more lives?”

Oswald smiled softly. “People either pay exorbitant taxes or they pay graft to the mob. If the mob controls City Hall, taxes stay low. It’s six of one, half dozen the other, really. And lives? I’m not sure. During the period the mob fell back, more random street crime occurred. Including murders. The subways were impossible. Porn was everywhere. Drugs. Graffiti. Look up the statistics. I think you’ll find the average citizen feels quite safe on the streets today compared to ten years ago. If you don’t cross the mob, you don’t even know they are there.”

“And then there’s _you_ ,” Jim smirked.

“Yes. The poster child for crossing the mob. For all I’ve studied the backstory, I admit my execution skills are a little lacking. I end up getting impatient. I try to seize the brass ring before my carousel horse gets near enough and I tumble off into the dust." He shrugged. "I want a bigger piece of the pie. Many would find it amusing.”

“I don’t call it amusing. I call it a death wish. It scares me.”

Oswald looked around and then slid his hand across the table to rest his fingertips on the side of Jim’s hand. He stroked against the warm skin twice before taking his hand back. “I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing. It means more than I can articulate. There aren’t many who would give it a second thought if I should be brought low by one of the families.”

Jim felt his face warm up and he cleared his throat. “Don’t you think you ought to slow down, though? Be less impetuous? You’ve been basically sentenced to death, what, three times since we met?”

“I realize that I live my life on a knife’s edge - and it's hard for me to admit this - but I’m afraid my ambition is hard to contain. Should I be more careful? Of course.  But I’m fueled, much like you are, by believing I can make a difference.  I know my sights are set on the wrong side of the law where you are concerned. But as much as I admire you and your obvious tenacity, organized crime is not about to vanish because you wish it away, Jim. It’s as ingrained in this city as the drinking water. It’s like the very skyline we gaze at every day. It IS Gotham.”

As much as he hated what he was hearing, Gordon couldn’t take his eyes off Cobblepot. The young man’s eyes blazed with such passion and focus when he talked about the city he so clearly loved, he was mesmerizing. And frankly, _beautiful_. His eyes were like glittering jewels and his pale skin made them pop all the more.  So rather than argue, the blond detective nodded and sipped his fountain soda and encouraged Oswald to keep talking.

***

Oswald was dismayed when Jim insisted on paying the check.

“Jim, that’s not necessary. I’m happy to take care of it, or even just pay my own portion.”

“No. While I’m sure you make more than a cop’s salary, that’s not the point. I asked you to have dinner with me, I’ll pay for it.”

“Are you this stubborn all the time?”

“Yes?”

Oswald laughed heartily at an unbidden image of Jim slapping Barbara Kean’s hand away from the check; Barbara, heiress to the Kean fortune with almost as much money as the Waynes.

“So, we’re calling this a proper date then?” Oswald did that thing where he lowered his eyes and gazed up at Jim through the fringe of his dark lashes. _Gah, he gets me every time with that look._

“Yes,” Jim retorted, putting on his most charming smile. “You are _my_ date, I’m paying for _your_ dinner, and I hope you’ll let me get the cab too.”

The younger man sighed dramatically and put a hand over his heart. “As you wish, Prince Charming.”

“Wise guy,” Jim chuckled, getting up to pay the bill since the waitress had conveniently disappeared.

“Can I at least flag the cab for us?” Oswald called after him. Jim winked at him before hustling off to settle up. Cobblepot levered himself out of the booth and made his way to the exit with his usual halting but elegant gait. A cab was waiting by the time Jim came out, with Oswald amiably making conversation with the livery through the driver's side window.

“Will this do, James?”

The blond nodded, and opened the back door, guiding Oswald in with a hand first on his elbow and then on the small of his back. As he swung himself into the backseat, he gave his address to the driver along with a suggestion for the shortest route.

“You’ll be able to get home from my place, right?”

“Gabe is on call to get me whenever the evening ends, so…um, yes.” Was that nervousness that Jim heard?

“He dropped you off at the restaurant tonight?”

“Indeed. He now drives me most of the time. I rarely drive myself about anymore. It’s just safer with him. And I enjoy his company. He’s a good man.”

“You trust him.” It wasn’t a question; Jim had sensed from the first that Oswald and Gabe had bonded.

“Implicitly. He has had many opportunities to betray me, and remains loyal and steadfast. I pay him well, but it’s not all about the money. I think he genuinely respects me. So few people do. It’s not something easily faked.”

Gordon nodded, made a few comments to the driver about the traffic, and sat back against the seat. Oswald leaned a little closer to Jim while stretching his bad leg out to the side. Jim took the opportunity to reach down and take Cobblepot’s left hand in his right.

It was so worth the look of pleasant surprise on the younger man’s face.


	5. cresting

From the moment Gordon had taken the younger man’s hand in the cab, a wash of pink adorned the apples of Cobblepot’s cheeks and the normally effusive conversationalist had fallen silent.

Such a public show of affection wasn’t practical outside of the cocoon of the taxi, so Jim rested a hand between Oswald’s shoulder blades once they made their way into the apartment building. The elevator was thankfully in working order, though Cobblepot would not have protested in the least if he’d had to walk up three flights of stairs.

“Well, here we are,” Jim announced unnecessarily, unlocking and opening the door to his flat.

Oswald followed his host into the dark entryway, and then stood aside as Jim groped for the light switch near his shoulder. The raven-haired gangster blinked owlishly in the harsh light until his eyes adjusted.

“It’s…not much,” Jim said, moving down the long hall toward the living room ahead and a kitchen off to the right. When he stopped short unexpectedly, Oswald bumped into his back. Still uncharacteristically quiet, Oswald looked quizzically up at his companion.

Jim took the shorter man by the shoulders and carefully pressed him against the yellow wall of his hallway before lightly stroking Oswald’s cheek with a thumb.

“W-what?” Oswald finally asked, the first word he had uttered in more than 10 minutes.

“I want to try something different, instead of, you know, throwing you against walls and doors." Jim tilted Oswald’s face up and focused on his eyes. “May I?”

Oswald’s breath caught.  

 _Is Jim asking for permission to...touch me?_  

In a daze, Oswald simply nodded, unable to do more than gaze expectantly at the other man. His eyes fluttered shut when he felt warm lips caress his own and his body slowly melted against Gordon’s.

As Jim felt Oswald begin to relax, he kept one hand on his shoulder and moved the other to the back of Oswald’s head, sliding his fingers into the inky locks. His lips moved softly but unerringly over Oswald’s. 

Gordon purposely took his time and lost himself in the kiss. Tonight, there was no pent-up anger, no push-and-pull, no passive aggressive arrogance. His actions were completely honest, fueled only by a desire he could no longer deny. If anything, the evening proved to Jim that he was more attracted to Oswald Cobblepot than ever.  _  
_

As the moments passed, Jim's quieted mind registered how readily he and Oswald seemed to adapt to each other's variations in pressure and tempo during the kiss, at times mirroring, even anticipating, each other’s movements. Beyond his expectations, the two men just _fit_.

***

In Cobblepot’s admittedly limited experience, a kiss was often a concession; a sloppy prelude (or fare-thee-well) to an agreed-upon tryst in a well-concealed corner. Kisses were something to be endured more than enjoyed. When Jim had assailed him so feverishly at the club and he'd responded in kind, Cobblepot had written the episode off as an anomaly: after all, they'd both been intoxicated and impulsive. Oswald definitely hadn't expected much more than a cursory kiss from Jim at this point; they had already gotten that business out of the way.

 _This_ , though. This was _sublime_. Oswald let out a quiet sound as the kiss deepened. He slipped his arms up and around Jim's neck and forced himself not to rise up on his toes when Jim’s tongue gently probed his lips and sought its counterpart. He didn't know a kiss could be like this – slow and sweet and so very sensuous. This was kissing for kissing’s own sake; kissing like it  _mattered_.

Jim's kiss was so intimate, so tender. He was mapping Oswald’s mouth and committing its topography to memory. Oswald sought to do the same, figuring it out along the way; sliding his tongue alongside Jim’s, caressing, savoring. Not in drunken desperation; not terrified that he might never have the chance again. This deliberate, focused kissing was Shakespeare and French wine and Cuban cigars. There was a thrumming throughout Oswald's body; thousands of fireflies dancing in his veins. His mind churned so fast, he couldn't hold on to even one thought much less predict his own next move.  _  
_

When Jim tugged at Oswald’s hair unexpectedly, he was nearly undone by Oswald's startled groan. Both men were panting and more than a little aroused by the time Gordon pulled back, and Oswald’s face mirrored the same glorious shade of flustered pink as Jim's.

“Thought maybe we'd get that awkward 'first kiss of the night’ thing out of the way,” Jim said, his voice rough.

“Yes,” Cobblepot murmured. “G-good game plan, Detective.” _  
_

"By the way," Jim added, directly in Oswald's ear, "you proved my drink theory. Far tastier on you than in the glass."

Cobblepot slid his hands down Gordon's chest and smiled sheepishly at him.  Jim returned the smile and then cleared his throat.

“So. I'm not much of a host, am I? I haven't even let you get past the hall. C'mon, I'll give you the 10 cent tour.” He put a hand on Oswald's shoulder to nudge him forward, and they continued into the apartment proper. They passed a closed door on the left before Jim steered Oswald into the kitchen to toss their overcoats on a chair.

***

Oswald coughed lightly into his fist before commenting on his surroundings.

"Why, James. You have a stove."

"Uh, yeah. Is that strange? Did you think I microwaved everything?"

"Well, that or perpetually ordered takeout," Oswald giggled. _Giggled_.

"Oh, very nice. I suppose you think I warm up beans and franks in a Crock Pot too." The snort was answer enough. "Hey, I don't even _own_ a Crock Pot."

"Uh huh," Oswald teased. Gordon laughed as he pulled two bottled waters from the refrigerator, and handing one to Cobblepot, led the way to the living room.

"You know that's an awfully long hallway for such a...well, small apartment."

"Yeah," Gordon sighed. "The apartments across the way have shorter halls but longer kitchens. This place was already furnished, though, so I grabbed it." 

"It's quite fine, really, just an observation. The living area is spacious enough."

Oswald put his water bottle down on the lone coaster he spied and walked behind the sofa, grazing his fingers across the top of the cushions to feel the fabric. Jim hadn't really noticed up to that point just how tactile the other man was, but watched as he literally touched everything he passed. Oswald cupped the back of the lampshade to peer at the fixture, traced along the bottom of a picture frame, and rubbed a curtain panel between thumb and forefinger before stopping in front of an abstract painting adjacent to the window. 

"Like art?" Jim asked, coming up behind Oswald. The younger man nodded and turned his head to catch Jim's eye.

"Would this be a Matisse?"

"Yes." _Huh. Not only does he like art, he actually *knows* art. I should have known._ "It's a reproduction of _The Yellow Curtain_. A gift Barbara gave me years ago that I took out of storage to brighten the place up."

"Indeed. Lovely piece."

Jim closed the distance between them and leaned over Cobblepot's shoulder to inhale his scent. Cobblepot instinctively tilted his head away, subconsciously baring his neck to Jim. The submissive gesture got Jim's heart racing and he wrapped an arm around the slender waist and sucked lightly at Oswald's pulse point.

"I'm q-quite fond of Matisse," Oswald managed to choke out after a moment of stunned silence, "and the p-post-impressionism period that influenced him. God, that's...oh, _Jim_." 

"Hm?" Jim was rewarded with a full body shudder when he nipped at Oswald's ear lobe. "You were saying?" he teased, licking the shell of his ear and running the tip of his tongue along Oswald's neck.

Oswald arched his back and anchored himself by gripping Jim's forearm, groaning in surprise when Jim scraped his teeth along his Adam's apple. Gordon continued sucking and nibbling whatever bare skin he could reach. Delighted with the sounds he was drawing from Oswald, Jim slowly slid a hand under the man's sweater and smoothed along the shirt-covered planes of his stomach and rib cage while placing open mouthed kisses along Oswald's jaw. Jim's hand eventually reached the pale neck and stroked over it with his palm, putting subtle pressure along the column of his throat until Oswald literally started to shake.

"You like that?" Jim pressed his fingers in the hollow of Oswald's throat, drawing a whimper from him. "Tell me, Oz," Jim whispered, pressing harder, and Oswald, unnerved by the incessant throbbing between his legs, moaned wantonly before frantically nodding his head and gasping out an affirmative. He squirmed in Jim's embrace, his breath stuttering when he pushed back and felt the unmistakable outline of Jim's hard cock against his ass. Jim sucked in a breath and Oswald stilled, keeping a light but constant pressure against Jim's erection.

Oswald's guileless responsiveness made Jim want him even more. 

"Take. This. Off." He punctuated his each word with a tug on Oswald's shirt collar. " _Please_."

Oswald's stomach clenched.

"Jim, I..." he chuckled nervously, thinking it might be time to make a suggestion or two of his own at this point. He started to turn his head, saw the hunger in Jim's eyes, and promptly forgot whatever bargain he was about to strike. His hard swallow was an audible _click_. "Alright."

***

For all his confidence and bravado, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot had only had a handful of sexual experiences. His first time was in high school with an older boy; each occasion since then was with a different partner, only two with whom names were exchanged. Sex was not something Cobblepot indulged in frequently, but he was only human. He sought to satisfy the demands of the flesh when solitary pursuits or deliberate distractions would not suffice. Such exploits were largely spontaneous, but quick, efficient, and with proper preparation, mostly painless.

Oswald's worldview was necessarily realistic. Practical. Sex, like everything else in life, could be boiled down to a business deal. Two parties made an arrangement, a verbal contract. If the terms were agreeable and you were lucky, you both got something out of it. (Not that money was ever exchanged; while he did not disapprove of prostitution per se, he didn't personally partake.) The act or acts being negotiated didn't involve prolonged contact beyond the requisite stimulation. Nor, as has been noted, did they involve much, if any, kissing. And if it could be helped, disrobing would be kept to a minimum. 

To say that Oswald's evening with Jim Gordon had drastically veered away from his customary script was a vast understatement. 

Nothing in his experience prepared Oswald for the perfect storm that was Jim Gordon. Oswald had never been rendered speechless by someone simply touching his _neck_ (and  _fuck_ , where did the _choking kink_ come from?); had never been reduced to uttering pitiful, inarticulate, embarrassing noises (beatings excepted); nor had he ever, _ever_ in his twenty five years been so desperately, unbearably, close-to-tears horny for another human being. Yes, Oswald had set his sights on Jim Gordon; handsome, courageous, incorruptible Jim Gordon. He would admit to having a massive crush on Gordon and, along with that, had pictured sex with him numerous times in his mind's eye. But he hadn't thought to include chivalry and romance and _wooing_ in his fantasies. As Victorian as he came across, Oswald's dreams of romance died in childhood.

He was a schemer, an actor, and a master manipulator, but he hadn't ever planned for _this_ scenario. How did one predict and navigate authentic, bonafide _passion_?

Oswald Cobblepot hated not knowing the next few moves on the chess board. Jim Gordon was changing all the rules, and Oswald was in way over his head.


	6. rushing and rippling

The room felt so warm. It would actually be refreshing to take his sweater off, though the idea of removing the button-down and undershirt was daunting. Oswald tried to think of a delaying tactic, but his brain couldn't properly engage.

His fingers were gripping the ribbed edge of his sweater when the idea struck. He looked Jim square in the face and, _bad leg be damned_ , lowered to his knees in front of the man. Jim took a step back and Oswald knee-walked _(limped)_ right up to him, pressing his cheek against Jim’s crotch.

“What are you… _doing_?” 

“Really, Jim?” Oswald laughed nervously, grabbing the back of Jim’s thighs and rubbing his face against Jim’s hard on.

“C'mon, Oswald. Wait.” In another minute, Jim was going to lose all resistance to this (his reptilian hind-brain screamed _WHY would you_ _resist this)_ so he had to put a stop to it now. “Oz? Not _yet_." Gordon dragged Cobblepot up by the underarms so they were face to face again. Before Oswald had a chance to protest, Jim had divested the man of the undershirt, button-down, and sweater combo in one smooth maneuver. 

Seeing the unamused expression on Oswald's face, Jim took off his own shirt to level the playing field. That distracted Oswald well enough for a few moments as his eyes traveled appreciatively over Jim’s sculpted and tanned muscles, but then he crossed his arms over his own chest and looked at the floor.

Gordon unfolded Oswald’s arms so he could have a better look at the bare skin. There clearly wasn't anything wrong with the newly revealed _(smooth, unblemished, alabaster)_ torso, so Jim was puzzled by Oswald’s reaction.

Oswald glanced warily at Jim's face, expecting a look of reproach or scorn. His usual self-conscious litany of _too skinny, too pale, too unappealing_ played in his head, but all he saw in Jim's expression was frank interest.

Jim put his hands on Oswald’s shoulders, kneading gently, trying to loosen him up. His muscles were coiled like springs beneath the porcelain skin. After a little coaxing, Gordon got Oswald to turn around so Jim had full access to his back. Jim kept at the knots until he felt something loosen and Oswald relaxed minutely. Finally, he pulled Oswald closer until his back was flush with Jim’s chest, and when he dropped his hands to Oswald's waist, his mouth resumed its earlier exploration of Oswald’s neck – now having much more surface area to cover.

Cobblepot’s rapidly changing expressions were priceless, but it was a good thing that he was facing away from Gordon. He started out stubbornly unresponsive. Then, he was by turns annoyed, bewildered, and contemplative. Finally, after he felt Jim’s lips and tongue caressing him anew, he grew anxious and almost wriggled away before sighing and dropping his head back onto Jim’s shoulder in surrender.

“Yeah. That’s it,” Jim whispered. “Nice and easy.” With Oswald somewhat tamed, Jim rubbed his hands up and down the other man’s arms and then skimmed lightly over his chest. It didn't make sense that he'd had to gentle him like a colt. 

Oswald made a small sound not unlike a squeak when Jim stroked his bare sides. 

"Ticklish?" 

"I don't know," Oswald muttered. "I guess?"

Jim made his touches firmer, more sensual than playful. Oswald's breathing grew labored and he squirmed against Jim's hands. His hips bucked as Jim tweaked a pebbled nipple, and Gordon knew it was time to make a move. 

He hoped he'd get it right.

Gordon slid his right hand along the flat stomach before palming the erection straining the front of Cobblepot's perfectly tailored trousers.

"Uhhhhh." Oswald tried to arch into Jim's touch, _but_ _the goddamn leg_.

"I've got you," Jim murmured, tightening his left arm around Oswald's waist and supporting some of his weight before his knee could buckle. Oswald leaned heavily into Jim's embrace and let out a long breath.

"OK?"

Oswald nodded while he scrabbled at his belt buckle. Jim worked with him to get the belt and zipper undone, and then the weight of Cobblepot's wallet and keys dragged the pants down below his hips.

He whispered Jim's name as Gordon started exploring him again. Cobblepot wore silk boxers, so it was easy for Jim to continue without much coaching. He knew, after all, how to jerk himself off...standing behind Oswald like this made it simpler to touch him in a similar way. He carefully drew Oswald's _(hard, hot)_ dick out through the boxers' opening and slowly stroked him.  _This isn't that different. OK, it is. But, nice. His skin is like satin...and whoa, he's uncut?_ Jim craned his neck over Cobblepot's shoulder to get a better look.

"Ohhhh, Jim..." Oswald moaned, closing his eyes and gripping Jim's left arm. 

"Show me," Jim urged the smaller man, getting accustomed to the slide of skin against his palm as he slowly pumped Oswald's cock. "Use my hand to show me how you like it."

"N-no, I c-couldn't. Just...it's...you're fine." 

"Go ahead, its OK. I want you to."  _I want to watch._

Oswald's mind tried to catch up with the request. _Wait, really?_   Face beet red, he tremulously wrapped a hand around Gordon's. Soon, the pressure and pace both increased to Oswald's preference (which Jim imagined  _had_ to be just shy of painful) so he dropped his hand to focus on Jim's adjusted grip. Jim added some of his own moves: a twist of his wrist at the end of each upstroke, a swipe of his thumb over Oswald's leaking slit.

It wasn't long before Oswald's breath started to catch in his chest. Gordon had unconsciously started rubbing himself against Cobblepot's backside and when the dark haired man unexpectedly spouted a string of expletives, he thought he might come just listening to him.

" _Fuuuuuck_ , just like that _...._ oh... _ohshitpleasedontstop._ Oh __fuck_ , _Jim, I'm..." Oswald keened, fingers digging into Jim's arm as his hips jerked and he erupted hotly over Gordon's fist. Gordon slowed then loosely held Cobblepot as he trembled through the aftershocks, still supporting as much of his weight as he could while the man caught his breath. 

"Are you alright?" Jim fondly kissed Oswald's temple.

"Oh, yes," he sighed, still holding fast to Jim's arm. He took a few more breaths to collect himself, before disengaging enough to retrieve a handkerchief from his left front pants pocket and methodically wipe Jim's fingers clean. Jim, now himself embarrassed, took the hanky from him and gently dabbed at Oswald's spent cock before tucking him back into his shorts. Oswald smiled shyly as he tugged his pants up and partially secured them. His skin was adorably flushed across his cheeks, his neck and upper chest.

"I do hope it's my turn now, James," he huffed, "while I still have some semblance of strength." 

Jim grinned, blushing as his stomach dropped in anticipation. "Yeah, I think that can be arranged."


	7. seaworthy

James Gordon had been vaguely curious about other men since his time in the army.

Well, _alright_ , there was that one boy back in high school. Jim would catch the boy admiring him from the bleachers during the home games, young and slim and shy, trying so hard not to get caught staring at the star quarterback. Many times Jim wondered what it would be like to kiss that boy. But they never even met, much less were alone together.

In the army, he’d let his mind wander to some of the guys in his unit; how the fatigues clung to their pert asses. He wondered if mutual hand jobs would “turn him” gay. Maybe something like that wouldn't even _count_. But he'd had a fiancé back home and didn’t want to ruin it. Cheating, even if overseas and with a member of the same sex, was still cheating. James Gordon was too moral to do that sort of thing. So, he on rare occasion entertained fantasies, but he didn't feel particularly "gay."

***

He didn't feel particularly “gay” now either as Oswald grasped his elbows and walked him backward to the sofa. In fact maybe it wasn't a “gay” thing at all. Maybe it was an “Oswald” thing. Oswald with his white skin, bright eyes and high cheekbones. The limping gait that gave him an almost arrogant swagger. The way he sometimes wore eyeliner to hide the fact that he’d barely slept the night before. His well-crafted fastidious and guarded manner that fell away in rare moments of vulnerability – and for how many people other than Jim had Oswald dropped his mask?

Oswald settled Jim on the couch, pushing and pulling him into just the right position – half sitting, half reclining – and helped himself to unzipping Jim’s jeans. Gordon rose up to let Cobblepot tug the pants down to his knees. The smaller man positioned himself so that he was half on and half off the couch, his left side tucked against the cushions and right leg thrown over Jim’s.

“You gonna be good like that?” Jim asked, as Oswald freed Gordon’s erection from his cotton boxer briefs.

Oswald kept being surprised by Jim. At this point, most men would have just shoved their dick in his mouth. Yet James Gordon was asking after Oswald’s _comfort_.

“Fine,” he said simply, licking a stripe up the underside of Gordon’s rather impressive member before swirling his tongue around the head and taking the first couple of inches into his mouth.

“Right. _Definitely_ fine," Jim said on a rush of breath, and squeezed his eyes shut.  Then, realizing how much he wanted to watch, he opened them again and found Oswald staring right back at him. _God, what the fuck color are his eyes? Green? Blue? Why the fuck do I care when he’s sucking my brains out through my dick? Hello!!_

It was obvious Oswald Cobblepot had had a little practice in _this_ area. Jim cupped Oswald’s right cheek and rubbed his thumb along the outline of his dick as it slid further in his mouth. He was so damn _pretty_. Those sooty black eyelashes fluttering as he took in more of Jim’s cock, the pink cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead as he focused on the task at hand, er, mouth.

Oswald leveraged a semi-crouched position, quite expertly bringing Gordon to the brink several times before easing back, simultaneously caressing and teasing his balls with the slender fingers of his right hand. Oswald was quite pleased with the grunts and groans and other non-words he was coaxing from Jim; equally pleased Jim wasn't talking. After all, Oswald would feel compelled to answer and it wasn't polite to speak with one’s mouth full.

Part of him had hoped Jim would lose control, thrust hard enough to bring tears to his eyes and nearly choke him; he chided himself for such base thoughts. Just the idea of it got him hard again. James Gordon instead was so very _careful_ with him...and that realization actually made him even harder.

Gordon pushed against Oswald’s shoulder when he was close, hoping the young man would get the hint to simply jack him off the rest of the way. But Oswald was having none of that; he moaned his refusal, the vibration triggering Jim's climax before the man could forcibly pull out. Oswald splayed a hand on Jim’s clenching stomach muscles as he took in Jim’s release, swallowing all but a lone drop that lingered at the corner of his mouth. Jim stared wide-eyed at him, panting and gasping, until the younger man finally let the softening cock slip from his lips.

Oswald swiped the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and, holding Jim’s stare, licked the digit with a saucy wink. Jim groaned at the sight as he relaxed into the cushions.

“Oz...That was. Wow.”

“Oh, good,” Oswald replied, a little hoarsely.  “I thought it might be a bit of a challenge. You are quite the Greek God, aren't you?” he teased.

Jim snorted. “Hardly, but thank you for the compliment.” He wove his fingers into Oswald’s hair and tugged him closer. Oswald crawled up Jim’s torso and was further surprised that Jim gave him such a tender kiss. They lay together on the couch for about five minutes before Oswald noticeably fidgeted.

“Your leg?” Jim guessed. Oswald rolled his eyes, but didn't deny it. “How can I help? Aspirin?”

“Honestly?” Jim nodded, concern written on his face. “If you wouldn't mind, there is a pill box in my outer jacket. Would you retrieve it for me?”

Jim returned from the kitchen with the jacket and handed it to his guest. The art deco tin in the upper breast pocket contained several different pills. Oswald chose one and chased it with the remainder of his bottled water.

“Do I want to know?”

“Percocet. For which I have a legitimate prescription, Detective,” he smirked.

“Hey, I’m not Narco. I wasn’t going to ask that. How long does it take to work?”

“Fifteen to twenty minutes. But painkillers make me feel strange and sluggish, so I only take them when I absolutely have to.” Oswald re-threaded his belt into the loops and buckled it. “Any chance you can locate the rest of my garments?” he asked on a chuckle.

***

“Oz?” Gordon attempted, as Oswald was slipping on the button-down shirt.

“Hm?”

“Do you…um, would you stay?”

Cobblepot was taken aback. “You mean to _sleep_?”

"Yeah. I mean, not on the couch or anything. With me. In the bedroom. I mean, unless you'd rather the couch,” he backpedaled, grimacing at his awkward invitation.

The younger man sat up straight and turned the idea over in his head. “I, uh…I’d have to call Gabe and let him know. I suppose that would be alright.”

“Right. He’s on call, isn't he?” Oswald nodded, locating his cell phone in another pocket of the jacket. He nodded again at Jim and held up a finger.

_“Hey. [...] Yes, I’m quite fine. Detective Gordon has graciously offered lodging for the evening, and I’ve decided to take him up on it. […] Yes, I took one. I waited as long as I could. Probably too long, but that’s neither here nor there. Get some sleep, alright? […] Of course. I will ring you in the morning to let you know what time. […] Ugh. Tell Mother I’m already asleep if she calls again. […] Thank you. A pleasant rest of the evening to you as well, Gabe.”_

Oswald snapped the phone shut and put his head in his hands.

“Your mother calls this late?”

“You've no idea how often Mother calls me. And if I do not deign to drop everything and ring her back immediately, she haunts Gabe all night. He’s sweet on her, but it definitely wears on his apparently infinite patience.”

"Well, anyway. Time for the rest of your tour. Your accommodations await."

Oswald smiled and, after rubbing some feeling into his knee, he trailed after his host to see the rest of Gordon's apartment.

***

Oswald was staring out the bedroom window when Jim came back in.

"Hangers for your clothes, something to sleep in, and fresh towels in the bathroom."

Oswald nodded, docilely stripping to his boxers and storing his wardrobe on Jim's closet doorknob.

"Everything OK?"

"Yes. Meds are kicking in, so I'm getting drowsy and, uh, mellow."

"Can I do anything for you?" He turned the bed down, and Oswald slipped between the sheets after tugging on one of Jim's GCPD t-shirts.

"No, you've been wonderful..."

"But?"

"But I must warn you, I've not shared a bed since I was five, so I can't vouch for my manners."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," Oswald faced Jim as he continued, "I have no idea if I snore loud enough to wake the dead or, worse, if I will commandeer all the blankets." 

Jim smirked and shut the light out. "I probably do both of those and more." Cobblepot snorted and they both laughed quietly in the dark. "Don't worry about it."

"Alright. But I warned you," Oswald said around a yawn.

"Alarm is set for 6:30," Jim murmured.

"That's fine. What time do we need to leave so you are at work on time?"

"I'm usually out of here by 8:20. Added some extra time since there are two of us getting ready." He paused. "Oz, can I ask you a personal question?"

Oswald could just make out Jim's features in the darkened room. "Of course."

"What happened to your leg?"

"Ah."

"If you don't want to answer-"

"No, it's fine. I tend to forget you don't know the story." He took a breath and hoped he wouldn't fall asleep in the middle of the telling. "I had a far less obvious issue as a youth: scoliosis due to an osteiod ostoema. It's a benign tumor that put pressure on my spine and caused me to, um, compensate and lean to the right. Eventually that created issues for my hip and gave me enough of a posture deformation for bullies to have one more reason to pick on me."

"Wow. I'm...sorry. What is the usual treatment for that?"

"Mother is mistrustful of physicians, otherwise I suspect I would have been fitted with a temporary back brace. Anyway, it was something I was accustomed to, and it certainly wasn't painful like this." He waved a delicate hand in the direction of the offending leg. " _This_ was a result of misjudging Fish Mooney. In her displeasure, she beat me repeatedly with a chair leg and fractured my right patella."

"She busted your kneecap?" Jim's voice rose in dismay.

"Quite so. Typical mob punishment. She might have fractured both had she not instead condemned me to die."

Understanding dawned, and Jim suddenly felt ill. 

"You mean when I walked you off the pier, you were hobbling because of the fresh injury."

"Yes," Oswald answered quietly. "It had happened mere hours before."

"Christ. I threw you in the Gotham River with a broken knee cap. God, I nearly killed you anyway!"

Oswald scooted closer and put a hand on Jim's arm. "Don't ever blame yourself, James. You are a good man and you saved my life. More than once, I might add." He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

"I'm not sure if such a 'good man' would have sent you to an almost certain watery grave to save his own ass." He shook his head sadly, replaying the moment in his head. "I'm going to let you get some sleep. We're not done with this conversation, though." At that, Gordon rolled over and gently kissed Cobblepot. 

"Mmm. What ever you say, Jim. I'm disinclined to argue with you, when you follow up your points with such...demonstrations," Cobblepot murmured dreamily in response.

"Good night, Oz." Jim whispered, putting a protective arm over Oswald and closing his eyes. "Need anything, just wake me up." 

"'Night, Jim. Don't lay there fretting, hm? It does more harm than good." Oswald burrowed under the blankets, remaining tucked up against Jim's side. 


	8. surfacing

The car was at the GCPD well before 9 AM, but somehow, Jim didn’t make it inside until almost 15 minutes after nine. Good thing the car windows were tinted.

Gabe pulled the Lincoln out into traffic, constantly glancing at the rear view mirror to check on a distracted Oswald. Finally, he parked in front of their favorite bagel place on 9th and 36th.

“Boss. You OK?”

“Hmm? Yes, yes. I’m fine. Just lost in thought.”

Gabe hesitated, and Oswald knew he had something he wanted to say.

“Go ahead,” he chuckled. “But then go in and get yourself something to eat and I’ll have a large hot tea with lemon. Alright?”

“Sure,” Gabe agreed easily. “It’s just, you shouldn’t worry.”

“Worry?” Oswald asked airily, like he had no idea what Gabe was going on about.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m no mind reader or nothin’ but, that Jim Gordon. He’s _crazy_ about you. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Ah. That's your read of the situation, then?”

“It’s written all over his face.”

“Gabe,” Oswald said patiently, “he kissed me goodbye. That hardly means-“

“No,” Gabe interrupted, and Oswald’s eyebrows rose. “I ain't just talking about the kissing. It’s the eyes. The way he looks at you. The way he _always_ looks at you." He let out a deep breath. "And that wasn't no 'goodbye' kiss. That was a 'can't wait to see you again' kiss."

Oswald scoffed, but he was secretly thrilled. “You’re such a hopeless romantic, Gabriel. Men like James are devoted to their work, not to kindling a romance. Certainly not with the likes of me.”

“I don’t think you give him enough credit, Boss. He asked to you stay overnight.”

“It was late…and we, er-”

“None of my business, that part. Just. _Overnight_ , you know? That’s a big deal. He make you breakfast?”

“Um, well, he offered and I didn’t want him to cook. I had toast. What? Is that also a 'big deal'?”

“If I may be so bold?” Oswald rolled his eyes but nodded for his driver (bodyguard, friend) to go on. “You ain’t had a whole lot of real dates, have you, Boss?

Oswald laughed at the absurdity of the moment: Gabe giving advice to the lovelorn. “Since you asked, no, I’ve not, actually. So these were 'big moments' to which I should have paid greater attention?” _Oh no worries there, Gabe, I was so attentive I could recount every breath I took since the moment James took my hand in the taxi._

“Just sayin’ – he’s a good man, and he strikes me as a little old fashioned. He could hardly drag himself outta the car.”

“So I should expect a dozen roses?” Oswald joked, face flushed with both embarrassment and the gnawing hope that Jim really did care for him.

“Just. Expect the unexpected, maybe. Anyways, I’ll get your tea.” The burly man exited the town car before he said too much more and pissed off his employer. The boy sometimes had a really short fuse. Why tempt fate?

***

_(2.5 hours earlier)_

Oswald blinked in the semi-darkness, registering a light hand shaking him awake.

“J-jim? What...what time is it?”

“It’s seven.”

“Seven! You said the alarm-“

“Shh, I got up before the alarm. I turned it off so you could sleep a little longer.”

Oswald’s eyes narrowed, face scrunching in confusion before his brain cleared. Then he smiled shyly. “Oh. That…wasn’t necessary. Such a lovely gesture, though. Thank you.”

Jim grinned, pleased he'd made the right decision. “Sure. And now, since you know I have a stove, would you like oatmeal or eggs and toast?”

The word _oatmeal_ turned Oswald’s stomach. “Oh, no. I-I’m a light eater in the morning. Really. Tea if you have it, and toast if you are already making some for yourself.”

“Lipton OK?"

“Oh, that's fine, I assure you."

Fifteen minutes later, Cobblepot was scrubbed and dressed and seated at Gordon’s tiny kitchen table. Of course, the younger man had to forgo use of his usual hair product, and Jim made sure to tease him about his soft “fluffy” hair. Oswald pouted but obviously loved the attention.

At 8:20, Gabe was downstairs waiting and Oswald insisted on dropping Jim at the station. Well, half a block away from it, anyhow.  

“You have a good day – and stay out of trouble,” Jim urged, semi-seriously, reaching for the door handle.

“Trouble? James, I’m as troublesome as a titmouse. What kind of trouble-“

“Don’t even go there, Oz,” Jim laughed and Cobblepot's cheeks pinked adorably to have Gordon use that nickname in front of Gabe. “You and I both know the kind of trouble you can get into.”

“Moi?” Oswald put a hand to the middle of his chest in mock indignation.

Spontaneously, Jim turned back toward Oswald. “Call me around lunch.” It was said so quietly, Oswald had to ask him to repeat himself.

“Today?” That got an eye roll from the detective. Oh. _Oh_. "W-when is generally the best time?”

“I usually take a break somewhere between 12:30 and 1:30 – split the difference and call me at one. Better yet, just text me first and I can tell you the best time.”

“Very good,” Oswald nodded, quite delighted with the opportunity. “I’ll do that. And Jim – about last night – I want to thank you for the lovely evening we shared. I’m not sure I said as much.”

Gabe, good at his job, swiftly pressed the lever to raise the privacy window before "about last night" was completely out of Cobblepot's mouth.

“No,” Jim murmured, glancing at the glass pane as it closed them off from the front seat, “I should thank _you_. I had an amazing time. Thank you for having dinner with me and coming back to my place. I'm glad you decided to stay over.”

Oswald’s eyes widened slightly as he realized Jim was about to kiss him good bye _(not even a full block from the precinct!)_ but happily leaned into the kiss and then took the initiative to deepen it. He felt Jim’s hands clutch his shoulders in surprise and his heart soared.  _God, I could get used to this kissing business._

“Mm, where did you learn to kiss like that?” Jim asked, dazed.

“Why, from you silly!” Oswald blurted out; coloring as he realized he probably should have played that off more coolly. Jim clearly appreciated the honesty and cupped the dark-haired man's face before kissing him again; this time they didn't part for some minutes.

“You need to go to work,” Oswald whispered when Jim pressed their foreheads together.

“Yeah I know. I'm going.”

“Jim. I mean you actually have to _leave the car_ , to go to work,” Oswald teased him, and a red-faced Jim pecked him on the cheek, knocked on the dividing panel for Gabe to unlock the door, and climbed out of the black Lincoln.

***

James Gordon started to walk away from the town car, looking once over his shoulder to see if he could spot Oswald through the tinted glass (he couldn't) before going back to knock on the window. Oswald lowered the glass half way, giggling at Jim's pantomime.

"What the devil is that supposed to be? A calculator?"

Jim smiled widely. "Dialing a cell phone. Just reminding you to call me."

"I'm so glad you refreshed my memory," Oswald deadpanned, voice barely above a whisper. "What if I'd been struck with amnesia during that delightful kiss good bye?"

Gordon winked, and half-jogged the rest of the way up the street and around the corner.

Neither Gordon nor Cobblepot saw Edward Nygma looking down from the second floor of the parking garage they were stopped in front of, but Nygma watched in fascination when Jim exited the town car. He thought it very strange indeed to see the detective leaving such a vehicle at that hour of the morning. After all, Gordon rode the subway. How fortuitous that the stairwell Ed normally took was cordoned off for repair and he'd needed to wait for the elevator! Nygma strained his eyes to see the driver or passenger, but the windows were too dark. Then Gordon quickly returned and the back window retracted far enough that Nygma could see a flash of pale skin and light eyes. He couldn't hear the words exchanged, but distinctly caught the sound of quiet laughter - both Gordon's and the other party's. As the car pulled away, Nygma noted the license plate; he'd look it up later that evening for the sheer amusement of it.

***

In the morgue half an hour later, Ed decided to play a little game.

"Dr. Thomkins, why would Detective Gordon be in a Lincoln town car?"

Leslie, nursing her third cup of green tea, looked up at Nygma with a puzzled expression. "Is this a riddle?"

"No," Nygma smirked, clapping his hands sharply. "It's a real question. I saw Jim get out of a black sedan this morning. I can't be sure, but I think it dropped him off for work. Not in front, around the corner where I park, but the car had been parked there for at least ten minutes. I first noticed it when I pulled into the garage and it remained there while I waited for the elevator. Jim didn't even get out of the car until after 9. Interesting, right?"

Leslie's stomach dropped. "Probably Barbara Kean," she murmured, turning from Nygma and pretending to read a report.

"That's the thing. Barbara used to drop him off in her white BMW on the occasions he didn't take the train. This car had a chauffeur. Well, I suppose it's possible she used a driver but, I don't think so," he said thoughtfully, hand under his chin. "The Mayor, maybe? An informant? A mobster? Ooh, the plot thickens!" He watched Leslie's face as it changed from concern to disinterest, and was slightly disappointed that she hadn't made more of a fuss. Maybe he shouldn't have ruled out Ms. Kean so quickly. 

***

Thankfully, Harvey was in a quiet mood and didn't badger Jim about his being late. After all, most days he was in before eight, what's one day of being a few minutes after nine? God knows, Harvey had been late more than a handful of times just from being hungover. So, he and Harvey sat in relative silence, going through files and drinking bad coffee until mid-morning.

"What's up with Doc?" Harvey finally asked once they were highly caffeinated.

"Sorry?"

"You guys having trouble? Seems like you've been avoiding her."

"Uh, trouble? No. No trouble. Just...I'm just pulling back a little. I think things were moving too fast and we needed a little perspective."

"Perspective? Is that what we need, Jim?"

Jim dropped his head in his hands at the sound of Dr. Thomkins' voice behind them.

"Lee," he sighed, not daring to turn around. Harvey took his cue and disappeared.

"Might have been nice if you'd said that to me instead of making excuse after excuse not to see me."

"I can explain-"

"I doubt it," Leslie interrupted. "If you wanted to break it off, you should have said so."

"W-where did you get that idea?" Jim stammered, getting up and facing her with a look of chagrin.

"Jim. Seriously? A woman knows these things. I thought we were progressing nicely, then all of a sudden you're cool and distant and we're having the occasional lunch or dinner and not spending any time alone. You haven't slept at my place in over a week."

"Lee, keep your voice down. These people don't need to know our business."

Leslie lowered her voice slightly. "I don't give a rat's ass who hears, but whatever. I thought I meant something to you."

"You did! I mean, you do...it's just...complicated." Jim felt his face heat up. How the hell did she manage to show up at just the moment he'd decided to say something to Harvey. It was amazingly bad luck.

"There's nothing complicated about it, Jim. It's a relationship. You're in or you're out. Are you back with Barbara?"

"What?" Jim's suppressed anger was starting to bubble up to the surface. "What the hell does Barbara have to do with anything?"

"Well then who dropped you off in their fancy car and made you late for work this morning?"

"Who-did  _what?!_ What makes you think anyone dropped me off? I was...w-working a case this morning."  _Shit this is going from bad to worse._ "And since when do I have to account for my time? Lee, we're  _dating_ , not married."

"Dating. Hmm. That would imply we'd gone on a date recently."

"Dating. As in,"  _Here goes, like this won't be a stretch..._ "we don't own each other. You know, we're free to see other people. I don't think we ever talked about being exclusive, so I don't understand where all this jealousy is coming from. Just...chill out. It's like I told Harvey when you so conveniently overheard our private conversation-"

"-a conversation about me," she interjected.

"-things were moving too fast. OK? I guess I realized that I'm just not ready. I need more...time."

She stared at him incredulously. James Gordon, Mr. Serious one-woman man, lecturing her on playing the field?  "Jim, you can have _all the time you need_. You let me know when you've figured it out, alright? Until then, I don't want to see you for anything other than business." With that, she dropped her report off on his desk, turned on her heel and stormed away.

Gordon collapsed in his chair with a loud sigh. 

"Well, that went well," Harvey joked from the stairs.

"You heard all that?"

"Hard not to; this here is primo real estate for loud voices to bounce off the walls. Acoustics, you know. But I really only caught the last bit about seeing other people and her being pissed. What the hell, Jimbo? She's hotter than the Sahara Desert! Why would you put the brakes on that? Since when do you put the brakes on _anything?_ "

"Ugh. It's..."

"...complicated, yeah. I figured. Well, you need an ear, let me know and we'll go for drinks. Meanwhile, we better get back to the grind. These files ain't closing themselves. Sure as hell ain't heading down to autopsy anytime soon either. Good thing she dropped something off." Harvey snatched the lab report and sat down heavily in his own chair.

It was shaping up to be a very long morning.


	9. beacon

A hostile witness interview, a victim’s hysterical family member, and a strangely studious Ed Nygma took up the rest of Jim’s morning, so when his phone buzzed at 1 PM, he threw his hands up in exasperation.

“What now?” he yelled, making Harvey jump, dribbling a bit of sauerkraut on his shirt.

“Jesus, Jim! Tryin’ to eat here!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Gordon looked at the screen and felt the heat rush to his face when he saw it was a text from Oswald.

**_Is now a good time?_ **

Jim sighed, remembering he was the one who insisted Oswald text him; even went back to remind him. How could he not answer? _It’s not his fault this day went balls-up so fast._

**_Yes, please._ **

The phone rang almost instantly, and Jim grabbed his overcoat and made a beeline for the front door.

“Where ya going?” Bullock called, to no avail. “Hm. Wonder if he’d mind me eatin' his hot dog.”

“Hey,” Jim answered, shouldering his way through the revolving door. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, things are pretty quiet here right now,” Oswald said, and Jim could literally hear his smile through the phone line. “Not so for my favorite homicide detective, I imagine?”

“You have NO idea. This has been, seriously, the day from hell.”

“How on earth could that have happened? I only saw you four hours ago!”

“Let’s just say, it was classic Murphy’s Law: Anything that could go wrong, did.”

Cobblepot made a sympathetic noise. “Anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it. Thanks for calling. I can’t guarantee I’ll be much fun to talk to right now, but that’s my fault, not yours. By the way, was Gabe freaked out by our little backseat display today?”

“Not in the least.”

“Oh?” Jim asked archly, leaning up against the brick wall outside the precinct. “So that's a pretty regular occurrence, you making out with some guy in front of him?"

“Ha ha, very funny. No. But Gabe is a progressive thinker; he is not at all dismayed by my orientation. I’m more concerned with how _you_ felt about someone seeing us like that?”

“It didn’t stop me, did it? Besides, I figure Gabe has your back. You trust him so…he’d be discreet.”

“He is the very picture of discretion.” Cobblepot paused, hearing all the noise in the background. “Jim, where are you?”

“Outside the stationhouse. Why?”

“I heard the rabble – did you want me to send a car for you? You can come here for a quick lunch.”

Tempted, Jim looked at his watch and sighed. “No, I really can’t. Thanks. Today’s going to be one of those street vendor days.”

“Ew.” Gordon could actually visualize Oswald screwing up his face in distaste and it was all he could do not to laugh out loud. “Maybe I can send food over?”

“Already bought something, but appreciate it.” Gordon looked around to make sure he was quite alone. “Listen, Oswald? I…I’m sorry I told you to call me.”

Oswald’s stomach dropped and he grabbed the back of a chair for support. _Oh no. Here comes the regret._

"Jim, we-"

“No, let me get this out. I just…I’m being such lousy company. I hate wasting your time like this. You get back to your business and I’ll just go stew in my misery. We can try this again tomorrow when I’m in a better frame of mind.”

Oswald let out an almost hysterical laugh of relief.

“Goodness, James! Don’t give it another thought. I’m just pleased to hear your voice, no matter your mood. Do try and have a better afternoon. Remember our friendship,” he paused, the word more substantial on his tongue than ever before, “works both ways. If you need anything or just want to talk, call or text me anytime. If I can’t answer due to business circumstances, just try again later. Meanwhile, as you suggest, I’ll text you before lunch tomorrow. Fair?”

“Yes, great,” Jim smiled. “By the way, I do feel better if that means anything.”

Cobblepot let out a quiet breath. “It does. Enjoy the rest of the day, Jim.”

“Yeah, you too. Be safe and we’ll talk soon, Oz.”

Oswald looked at the wall clock. _Did we just spend 15 minutes talking about nothing? How glorious! I mustn't jump to conclusions. God, I need a libation._

Gordon strolled into the GCPD eating a freshly bought street dog, smirking at the sheepish look on Bullock’s face and the empty napkin where his original lunch had been.

“How’d you…?”

“Just had a feeling, Harv.”

***

As Gordon requested, Cobblepot texted on Friday, and Gordon's better mood was reflected in the subsequent phone call. Then he and Bullock caught a case that required working the weekend, and Jim managed to squeeze in a call to Oswald late Saturday afternoon. They didn't connect on Sunday, but Monday at 1 PM, Jim got his lunch text...and that became the new normal. 

Being an actual detective, Harvey caught on to the pattern. Jim would receive a text at pretty much the same time every day, usually followed by making or receiving a phone call. Whatever the day brought, Jim was _much_ easier to deal with after these calls, so Harvey watched for clues to the caller's identity. He wondered idly if it was the person that had called while they were all in the medical examiner's office more than a week ago - and if that meant the caller was Jim's new "love interest."

***

Meanwhile, Edward Nygma found out very little about the black Lincoln. It was registered as a professional livery vehicle, part of a fleet of cars operated by Elevation Limousine and owned by Gotham City Allied Transportation Group (GCATG). There wasn't much to find on GCATG, other than it was a subsidiary of Royal Holdings, LLC, a privately owned corporation.

So much for the interesting nugget. Ed was no closer to finding out who Gordon was with last week. He'd just have to keep his eyes open for clues.

***

Wrapping up the latest case – the one that stole Gordon’s weekend from him – felt more rewarding than any since taking down the Electrocutioner. Another murderer off the street, with solid evidence and an uncoerced confession, solved in just under a week.

Captain Essen sent both Gordon and Bullock home early on Thursday and gave them Friday off, which meant a three-day weekend. As they packed up to go, Bullock watched out of the corner of his eye as Gordon sent a quick text and smiled enigmatically at the equally quick response. Harvey toyed with the idea of tailing Jim, but that seemed too creepy even for him to do.

_Nah, not too creepy._

"Got any plans, Jimbo?"

"Nope, gonna lay low for a couple days. You?" Jim glanced over as he put his coat on.

"Nothing yet. Wanna grab a drink and a burger? We can go to Smitty's."

"Uh..." _Here comes the bullshit_ , thought Bullock. "I'm beat. Think I'm just gonna crash. Rain check?"

"Sure, sure. No worries, Boy Scout. Got a bottle of Jack at home with my name on it. Gimme a shout out if you get bored."

Jim laughed, relieved Harvey didn't push. "You bet."

They walked together the two blocks to Jim's train station, and Bullock waited two minutes before taking off his hat and descending the stairs. His partner was just stepping into a subway car, so Harvey quickly pushed through the crowd and got in the car behind Gordon's.

Three stops later, Bullock wove his way through the throng, keeping plenty of distance between him and Gordon. He stayed half a block behind the younger detective on the opposite side of the street, and just as Gordon got to his apartment building a car pulled up alongside him. Harvey made it to the middle of the block and craned his neck, but from that angle it was impossible to see clearly. He watched Jim apparently greet the driver before opening the back driver's side door himself. Gordon leaned into the car, taking what looked like a garment bag from whoever the passenger was.   _Jesus, Jim, get outta the way!_

Between the car door and Gordon, all Harvey could see was a slight figure in a black hoodie emerging from the vehicle. Bullock backed into a doorway, taking the three steps up to try and get a better vantage point, but a white box truck stopped at the light and completely blocked the view. Bullock scrambled down, maneuvered around a pile of trash bags outside the bodega and squeezed between two parked cars, but it was too late; the door to the building had closed and the car was already easing around the corner.  _Some detective you are, didn't even get the fucking license plate!_

At least Bullock had something to chew on. Gordon did indeed have a visitor, (and by the timing it seemed to be whomever he'd texted before he left the office) and she sure wasn't tall enough to be Barbara Kean.  _Must be some piece of ass for Jimbo to drop Lee Thomkins like a bad habit._ He stuffed his hat back on his head and took off for his own place. It was time for a drink. After all, it was 5:00 somewhere.


	10. on dry land

Jim Gordon had never been much of a talker.

In fact, Jim liked to just _be_. When he watched a movie, he might make occasional observations about the plot but would never think to dissect the characters’ deepest motives and absolutely not want to have a comparative discussion about the director’s previous works and their impact on society. He just wanted to _watch a movie_.

This tendency to be the strong, silent type didn't bode well in his relationship with Barbara. Barbara wanted to talk everything to _death_. If she brought home a new painting, it was a two-hour dissertation on the meaning of color and then a deconstruction of the artist's life. If she asked about Jim's day, she didn't really want to know if the day went well (or even if it didn’t); she wanted to know the intricacies of every one of Jim’s cases, his relationships with each of his co-workers, the inside scoop on Gotham City politics. Jim hated discussing things _ad nauseum_ , much less at that level of detail, and it put more than a little strain on their alone time.

With Lee, it was a little better in that she worked in the same world as Jim. They could discuss cases, insofar as their own parts of the cases intersected. Outside of work, he and Lee hadn't really talked about much of anything. She was intelligent, yes, but tended to steer away from intellectual topics. Instead she wanted to talk about the two of them: their next date, their next dinner, their next _anything;_  always in reference to being a "couple" - as if they were a single unit. As sweet as she was, this internal focus was smothering.

That’s why, when Jim started having regular phone conversations with Oswald Cobblepot, he was surprised how much he looked forward to them. Not just listening, but  _talking_. The cadence and tone of Oswald’s voice relaxed him and Jim found himself opening up in response.

Harvey may have noticed the daily phone calls Jim was receiving at lunchtime, but he didn't know about the calls Jim made to Oswald after 9 PM. The calls weren't burdensome; fifteen minutes at the most because it was Oswald's busy time, but those calls did wonders to reduce Jim's stress level. 

Something Jim had noticed on their dinner date that carried forward during these conversations was how engaging Oswald could be. Oswald rarely asked about cases (other than how he could assist), never pressed for details on anything Jim brought up, just lent a sympathetic ear and only offered advice when it was solicited. The nightclub owner was obviously quite intelligent, asked interesting questions, offered challenging opinions, and shared personal anecdotes when relevant. Oswald never felt the need to fill dead air if there was nothing else to say, and therefore knew when it was time to get off the phone.

Yes, Jim truly looked forward to his conversations with the younger man.

Conversation, however, was not on Gordon’s mind when he helped Oswald Cobblepot out of the Lincoln that early Thursday afternoon and gently ushered him into his apartment building. The only thing he could think of, instead, was getting the man upstairs as soon as possible. Because _God help him_ , Jim had _missed_ him.

***

“So, what’s with the hoodie and sunglasses?” Gordon asked casually once he had pressed the button to summon the elevator. 

“Well,” Oswald explained, smiling as he tucked the shades away, “I am not insensible to the fact that certain aspects of my persona are very recognizable. I thought, being that it was broad daylight, it might be prudent to disguise my outward appearance when approaching the building.” Smirking, he added, “Sorry that I could do so very little about the limp.”

“I didn’t ask you to hide, Oswald,” Jim mused, carefully lifting the hood off of the dramatically-styled black hair. “But I thank you for the valiant effort.” The quiet words were said directly into Oswald’s ear, drawing a shiver from the younger man. When Jim looked Oswald over and their eyes finally met it was like heat-seeking missiles locking onto their respective targets; each so focused on the other in that moment, they very nearly missed the arrival of the elevator. It wasn't until the _ding_ signified the imminent closing of the door that Oswald had the presence of mind to blindly shove his overnight bag into its path. Both men smiled sheepishly and kept their eyes on the floor once they boarded the car, staying quiet and relatively separated until they were at Jim's place.

"What on earth did you bring?" Jim's keys jingled loudly in the lock. 

"What? You know how I tend to my clothing!" Oswald retorted, nudging Jim's arm playfully. 

"Is every suit you own in here?" Jim shook the garment bag and Oswald snatched it from him. 

"Thank you for carrying it. No, smarty pants. Only two. But they have _layers_."

"Mm hmm," Gordon teased, taking the bag back from Cobblepot and leading him into the apartment. Gordon took the left turn into the bedroom and hung the garment bag in the closet. He took the overnight bag from Oswald's grip and placed it on the bed before crowding him against the now-closed closet door.

"Yes?" The younger man smiled in anticipation, hands eagerly snaking up Jim's chest as Gordon firmly took hold of his waist. 

" _Yes_."

Jim's mouth descended on Oswald's and they both groaned in long-awaited relief. When Jim's tongue found Oswald's, the younger man dug his fingers into Jim's shoulders, pulling him even closer. There was barely a hair's breadth between them, the kiss ratcheting up from zero-to-filthy in seconds, rushed and messy and desperate. After a few frantic moments of uncoordinated humping against each other, Jim lifted his mouth to suck and bite at Oswald's jaw and the wanton mewling from the other man drove Jim to _just hold him still_ so he could get their pants open. Oswald leaned his head back against the door and watched with hooded eyes as Jim clumsily pushed aside zippers and fabric and tugged clothing up and down until he could press their aching cocks together. The detective wrapped a hand around their straining erections and stroked a few times, spreading pre-cum until they would slide together comfortably. Oswald, pupils blown, nearly bit through his own cheek. Jim took hold of the man's hips, grinding his cock into Oswald's until they were obscenely rutting against each other with abandon. Jim lost himself in this feeling of flesh against flesh, hard and hot and so very different from anything he'd previously experienced.

Overwhelmed with a passion he'd not known he was capable of, Oswald fisted his hands in Gordon's suit jacket and kissed him deeply. He distantly registered Jim's gasps as he nipped at his lips and sucked hard on his tongue, and all he wanted to do was literally crawl inside of Jim's skin. His mind was exquisitely blank as he and Jim rubbed so deliciously against each other, his body operating purely on animal instinct. When he broke the kiss, he briefly admired Jim's handsome face before dropping his gaze to the source of their mutual pleasure. But actually seeing their reddened, engorged cocks slide back and forth against one another was beyond unreal: it was utterly breathtaking...and entirely _too much_ for him. He shuddered and came so hard he saw stars, mouth agape in shock as he painted Jim's cock, abdomen and shirt with pearly white ejaculate. Watching the surprise on Oswald's face and then feeling the hot, wet rush of his cum, Jim's own climax followed with a hard jerk of his hips and a startled cry.

Positively wrecked but still unwilling to let go, they weakly brushed against each other until Oswald shook his head and mouthed "no more."

"OK. C'mere." Jim put an arm around him and drew him closer in response.

It had to be two or three minutes before either of them attempted to speak; instead staying huddled close, spent. Jim finally broke the silence. After all, it was his apartment and he'd sort of instigated their ravishing each other.

"In case you didn't get the message," he murmured, his voice sounding too loud for the size of the room, "I missed you."

"Huh," Oswald grunted, head on Jim's shoulder and eyes closed. "that's what that was? Thought we were hit by a truck."

Jim chuckled. "A week is way too long," he added, squeezing Oswald's neck affectionately. "Just so you know."

Cobblepot raised his head and met Gordon's blue eyes. "I missed you too. So very much." 

Jim nodded, swallowing hard at the vulnerable look on Oswald's face. He realized he must have looked much the same because Oswald's sea green eyes widened slightly. Jim's stomach did weird cartwheels when Oswald smiled tenderly, touched his cheek and kissed him on the lips.

When they parted, a blushing Oswald cleared his throat. "Anyway. I, um, concur, James. The separation was...undesirable. I understand now why you need to clean up Gotham so badly. Weekend cases are simply detrimental to one's social life."

"Yeah. I know. That was on me. I plan to make up for it while you're here."

"A good start," Oswald smirked, looking down at their disheveled, soiled clothing. "I am glad I chose to forgo a suit today," he added. "The dry cleaning bill would be frightful."

"We need to freshen up. C'mon," Jim laughed, dragging Cobblepot to the bathroom. "By the way, do you like movies?"

"Hmm?  Oh. Yes, on occasion. I'm no aficionado, though," Oswald apologized. "I'm afraid my interest is no deeper than viewing a film for its sheer entertainment value."

Jim's cheeks had to have hurt from smiling so hard.


	11. drowning

Somewhere toward the end of their Chinese take-out dinner, Oswald became oddly quiet. It didn’t last long, but Jim picked up on the change in mood, starting to better read Oswald’s body language and subtle facial expressions. He didn’t ask about it; he filed it away for later.

Jim poured them each three fingers of Jim Beam, had Oswald pick something from Netflix (“Reservoir Dogs,” which surprisingly, neither of them had seen before), and settled them on the sofa. Cobblepot seemed a little more animated during the film, making observations about the disastrous heist, teasing Gordon with the myriad ways he would have planned it differently. About an hour in, Gordon put the movie on pause and pounced on the man, kissing him within an inch of his life to shut him up.

After finishing the movie (which they both enjoyed but did not even remotely dissect), Oswald seemed a little too pensive; reminding Jim of that quiet moment during dinner. It seemed like a good time to figure out what was going on.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?” Oswald had gotten up to stretch his leg, and was over by the window.

“What’s up? You seem, I don’t know, a little distracted. Tense.”

“You are getting quite good at reading me, Detective. I’m not sure I approve,” Oswald joked, turning his face toward the street.

“Oh, so it’s ‘Detective’ now, is it?” Jim moved beside the other man, slipping an arm around his waist. “Need something for your leg?”

“No, no. It’s actually not painful right now,” Oswald smiled up at Jim. “I’m good. I guess I’m a little disheartened by something you said earlier and I need to work through it.”

“Something I said?” _What the hell could I have said? I stayed away from crime, criminals, aquatic birds…_

“It’s probably nothing. I don’t know much about these things anyway.” Oswald spread his hands in acquiescence.

“Okay, come on.” Jim grabbed a startled Oswald by the wrist and led him back to the couch. “Talk. This is your one chance. I’m not real keen on the talkie stuff. What did I do, so I can try to avoid it next time?”

Oswald blushed, shaking his head. “D-don’t be silly. It’s just…you said something about not seeing Dr. Thomkins anymore and it left me perplexed.”

Jim just nodded at him to continue.

“You see, I know how important stable relationships are to you. First Ms. Kean, then Dr. Thomkins. Both quite lovely, respectable ladies. I fear that you will be missing that.” He hesitantly met Jim’s eyes. “Let’s face it; Dr. Thomkins was a known entity. Beautiful, smart, but not dangerous. I don’t know what to expect from your next paramour. She might completely infatuate you, leaving very little time for our...meetings...and depending upon who she is, she-”

“What are you talking about?” Jim said, perhaps a little too loudly, causing Oswald to shrink back a little. “Sorry, not yelling. Just… confused. I thought you’d be happy I stopped seeing Lee?”

“Happy? Why…why on earth would I be happy? I don't wish for you to be lonely! You need…companionship, Jim. It’s not right for you to be without…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Gordon stood up and paced, and Cobblepot put his face in his hands.

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” the younger man mumbled, shaking his head.

“What did I say earlier? Do you remember the whole conversation?” Oswald sighed, and Jim sat back down next to him. “The part about, it wasn’t going anywhere and I didn’t want to lead her on if I wasn’t feeling it?”

Cobblepot nodded.

“I think there’s something about me you didn’t learn from your research.”

“What research?” the younger man sputtered. “I haven’t…okay maybe when you first came to Gotham but…”

“Stop,” Gordon laughed. “My point is I don’t do the ‘playing the field’ thing real well. I prefer to concentrate on one person – give it a real chance, you know?”

“So, why end things with Dr. Thomkins? Maybe you didn't give it enough time? How is it better for you to be alone than enjoy the comforts of a beautiful woman?”

“Jesus, are you always this dense?”

“I beg your _pardon_?” Now, Oswald was getting mad. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t understand the complexities of male-female dynamics. “There is no need to be insulting, James. Although I don’t have quite the level of interpersonal experience that you’re accustomed to, you could at least give me some guidance. As I was saying, from my observations you strike me as a man who needs companionship. So-”

“Well, hello?” Jim stood up again. “Isn’t that what you and I are trying to get to?”

Oswald’s mouth went dry. “W-what?”

They stared at each other in silence.

“Wait a minute. What's going on here?” Jim asked suddenly, eyes narrowing. “Have you been playing me?”

“What the devil do you mean?” Oswald looked scandalized.

“This was your idea.” Jim backed up until he was leaning against the bookcase, arms crossed. “I thought this was what you wanted. What did you think we were doing, just fooling around?”

Cobblepot opened his mouth and shut it again. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and ended up saying nothing.

“Jesus Christ, you've been fucking with my head all this time?” Jim advanced on him so fast; he had no chance to move out of the way. Gordon had him by the arm and dragged him to his feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“No, you misunderstand my reticence. Let g-go.” When Gordon’s grip didn’t loosen, Cobblepot raised his voice. “James! Let go of me!”

Gordon came back to himself, let go of Oswald’s arm as if burned, and left the room.

Oswald, now a trembling wreck, sat back on the sofa to collect his wits. _How had this all gone so horribly wrong? If he had only kept his mouth shut._

_***_

Jim paced back and forth in the kitchen, red-faced with anger. How could he allow himself to be manipulated by that little psychopath? A couple of hours ago, he was almost convinced he was falling in love with the bastard, and all the kid wanted was a roll in the hay. How had he not _seen_ that? Gordon gripped the counter and tried to calm down. 

_Think, Gordon. Think!_

But when Jim tried to play back his recent interactions with Oswald: the dinner date, the evening at home, the morning after, the phone calls, the desperate reunion in his bedroom this afternoon...he could find no deceit, no tricks. Just two people who really enjoyed each other. No, it was more than that. Two people who _needed_ each other. Jim was no kid. He knew what he was feeling and there was no way Cobblepot was that good of an actor. There was something so tangible, so substantial, so genuine about their attraction and what it was becoming. It _could not be_ that Cobblepot was faking this. Why would he bother? What would he gain by such a deception? Sure, Jim could throw Oswald out. End it now before he got (more) hurt. But something wasn't making sense.

_You're a goddam detective. Go figure it out!_

***

He stormed back into the room, slamming the bottle of Jim Beam on the table after splashing his glass full of the amber liquid. He sat down so hard on the sofa, Oswald bounced on his cushion.

“Explain yourself,” the older man growled, after tossing back the drink. “I don’t have time for games and I don’t enjoy being played for a fool.”

“I am not ‘playing you for a fool’. I’m genuinely confused, and I do wish you’d stop shouting at me.”

Gordon looked sideways at him, and waved a hand for Oswald to keep talking.

“Y-you asked me earlier if _this_ ,” he waggled a finger between the two of them, “was what I wanted. The answer is, of course, a resounding ‘yes’.” Oswald swallowed the lump in his throat. “But I learned early on in life that what I want and what I get are always two very different things, James. One learns to settle.”

“Wait. So you thought _I_ was the one playing _you_?”

“Not in so many words, no. But did I expect that there were limitations to our involvement? Yes. For all my ambition, I am also a realist. I have been, and obviously continue to be, extremely attracted to you. That's not a state secret. That you seem to reciprocate in some measure is wonderful. But I'm not sure why you do. So I presumed that, you being a healthy, red-blooded male, well, you've certainly treated me unlike anyone else I’ve ever known, but since this is a new and different experience for you, I thought what you wanted from me was...to, to...“

“You thought _what_? That all I wanted was to fuck you?“

“Yes,” he hissed. "Alright? Yes." He twisted his fingers in his lap, ashamed of how low he had been willing to sink just to be in Jim’s company.

“And then what? Cut and run?”

“Well, I'm hardly 'companion' material, James. Surely you can understand my bewilderment. I can be useful, certainly, and there is mutual benefit...but you need a mate by your side in the real world."

“Wait. So, you figure I need a woman for that, and you're, what? Chopped liver? Did you really think I would just _use_ you like that?"

Cobblepot stilled, took a deep breath, and told the truth.  “The fact is…that's all I've ever known. Why would I expect more?”

***

They sat in the resulting silence for long minutes, until Oswald fidgeted and made to get up. Jim’s hand touched his (good) knee to keep him there.

“Please. Don’t leave. I’m sorry I lost my temper. I had no right to manhandle and yell at you. I want you to stay.”

Oswald shrugged, feeling defeated and suddenly so very tired.

“Jim, may I ask a question?”

“You know you can.” Oswald looked askance at him. “Yes, really. I won’t bite.”

“Am I to understand from our earlier, um, discussion that you broke up with Dr. Thomkins for me?”

“Well. I mostly broke up with her for _me_. But, yeah, once you and I started seeing each other, I just wanted to focus on you. I wanted to give us a chance.”

“Huh.”

"Listen. Earlier I said 'I thought this was what you wanted.'" Oswald blinked, looking down at his hands. "But that wasn't entirely true. It's what I wanted, too. Still do." Oswald met his eyes. "So, if you want to give it a try..."

"Become more like a companion to you?"

"Companion, partner, whatever you want to call it, yeah." Jim waited, watching Oswald carefully.

“I would…like that," he said quietly. "Except.”

“Except?”

“I've never had a relationship. I don't know how to _be_ in a relationship. Look at tonight, for example,” he laughed, humorlessly. “I very nearly got thrown out of your apartment, and I barely said anything…just went about it all  _wrong_.”

“And I am deeply sorry for the misunderstanding.” Jim rubbed his face. “See, this is why I hate the talking stuff. Look how messed up this got. We were fine while we were making out, right?”

Oswald laughed. “ _Quite_. Perhaps we should stick to non-verbal communication, then.”

Jim chuckled and headed to the kitchen, putting the alcohol away and the glass in the sink while Oswald made his way down the hall.

With his hand on the bedroom doorknob, the younger man turned back and asked, “Does this new development mean we are boyfriends? Lovers? What terms of endearment might one expect whilst one's companionship is under consideration?”

"I'll give you 'terms of endearment'," Jim playfully growled, snapping the kitchen towel in Oswald’s direction. The other man ducked behind the door, his lips curling in a hopeful smile.


	12. interlude - calming rough seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief glimpse at the making up before the main event. These boys, they just write themselves, sometimes. And they are awfully cute.

Oswald was sitting on the edge of the bed when Jim came in. Jim sat beside him and nudged him with his elbow. It got the desired result; Cobblepot smiled and elbowed him back.

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Cobblepot didn’t lose the smile, just shrugged a little. "I _am_ sorry, you know."

"Jim, don't," Oswald murmured, turning to face the other man. "Let's not-"

"I just want to be clear. I shouldn't have reacted like that. Accusing you."

"I have lied about a lot of things in my life, Jim." Oswald shook his head sadly. "I will, in all probability, continue to lie. But I have never lied to you. And I certainly wouldn't _toy_ with you. I..." he sighed heavily. 

"Look," Jim rested hands on Oswald's shoulders. "I was scared."

"Scared? Surely not of me."

"Not of you. No. But...I'm _invested_ now. You're in my head, you know? I've spent a lot of time thinking about you, about the possibility of an 'us'. And when you started talking about making sure I had a girlfriend, I started to think that this was all just a game to you, and...I shouldn't have lost it. Okay?"

"Okay."

Jim tugged him close and Oswald put his head on Jim's shoulder, breathing him in.

"You really thought I'd date Lee, or whoever, and you at the same time?"

" _Didn'tthinkweweredating_ ," Oswald said into Jim's neck, barely understandable. But Jim understood.

"Right. You thought you were signing up to be my, what? Boy on the side? You must really think I'm a Cassanova, lining up a harem of girls and boys to keep me happy. How do I keep 'em straight? What day is this?"

Oswald sat back and weakly punched his arm, laughing. "I didn't say a _harem._ Just,  _options_." 

"Well," he cupped Oswald's cheeks, "I'm _opting_ for this." He brought their lips together and felt Oswald sigh as the young man sagged against him.

***

“You know, after all that exhausting conversation, I’m almost inclined to hit the hay,” Jim said, tugging his t-shirt over his head, “get a good night’s sleep, attack this tomorrow with a clear head. Almost.”

Oswald smiled broadly and gave Jim a mock good night peck on the cheek. “Whatever you want, Jim.”

“Oh no, no. That’s not how this is going to go. What do _you_ want?”

“Hmmm,” Oswald nuzzled Jim’s jaw and touched his chest reverently. “I don’t know. Maybe hit the hay; get a good night’s sleep, attack this tomorrow with a clear head.”

“Fresh.”

Cobblepot giggled and squirmed a little when Jim buried his face in his neck.

Jim felt such relief that they seemed to be back on the same page. _God, I love to hear that laugh._ “You make me crazy, you know that?”

“James, that has never been my intention,” he replied, slipping his arms around Jim's neck, “although I could say the same about you. Most especially when you...do… _that.._.”

Whatever _that_ was drew a lovely groan from Oswald and no further words. Jim made sure to turn off the light before divesting Oswald of his shirt. He remembered how uncomfortable the other man seemed to be last time, and decided discretion would be the better part of valor.

***

After getting off most of their clothes - way too slowly thanks to each being distracted by the other's newly exposed skin (and Oswald's apparent fondness for rubbing his cheek against Jim's bulge as he helped undress him, _holy shit)_ \- they were finally down to their skivvies and arranged comfortably, face to face on the bed.

“I have so been looking forward to this moment,” Jim whispered, leaning on his elbow and watching Oswald's eyes.

“Which moment is that?” Oswald teased, rubbing Jim’s shoulders.

“Full body contact,” Jim clarified. “Which did you think?”

“I refuse to comment on the grounds that I might incriminate myself.”

Jim laughed, and pinched Oswald’s ass through his silk drawers. “Ow! _Fuck_!” The indignant yelp caused Jim to laugh harder.

“I look forward to _that_ , too,” Jim smirked, “but I kind of like this slow burn.”

“Hm.  So you’re a tease, Jim Gordon. I should have known.”

“And you’ve got a smart mouth.”

“I can put it to good use.”

“I’m well aware of that, _you_.” Jim gently rolled Oswald over onto his back and straddled his hips. “Alright if I do this?” He leaned in and licked a stripe up Oswald’s breastbone to the base of his throat and sucked at his Adam's apple. _What I really want is to get those damn shorts off him and do this to his dick._

“Gah,” Oswald’s hands flew up to grab Jim’s head. "Jim!"

“I know I’ve asked you this before, but I didn’t get a clear answer. Are you ticklish?”

“If I recall, I answered as best as I could. I honestly don’t know. I don’t think anyone’s tried to tickle me. I guess I’m going to find out?”

“Only if you’re okay with it. Some people get freaked out, some people really dig it.”

“Which are you?”

“I dig it.”

“Hm. Getting or giving?”

“Both. Wait. Are we still talking about tickling?”

Oswald laughed so hard he started coughing and had to sit up to get a swig of water.

“Jesus Christ, can't wait to see what happens if I actually tickle you.”


	13. deep as the ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really that keen on songfics, but I had the radio on this morning and this just fit the foreplay part of the chappie. I've not included the entire song, but the lyrics sprinkled in bold throughout are taken from "Love Me Like You Do" by Ellie Goulding, (c) Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
> 
> Also, explicit male-on-male action here; if that's not your thing, best to skip this chapter.

He was so tired, really. Must be why his eyes itched. If he just gave in, he would likely have the best rest he'd gotten in years. But Oswald Cobblepot instead struggled to stay conscious just a little longer, refusing to forfeit the opportunity to watch James Gordon sleep. Oh, he didn't _need_ to watch him; knew Jim had his firearm at the ready in the event of an intruder. No, he wasn't keeping an eye on him for safety sake. Oswald was instead _studying_ the man: watching the rise and fall of the detective's chest as he breathed, admiring the peaceful look on his handsome face in repose; appreciating the wonder of his very existence.

Oswald still couldn't wrap his head around what had happened. He studied Gordon's profile and relived the night's every kiss, every touch, every tender mercy.

***

_(Earlier that night)_

Deciding that continuing to make Oswald laugh to the point of choking was not conducive to his plans, Jim Gordon put tickling him aside in favor of _exploring_ Oswald's body with his hands. And with his mouth.

There wasn't a lot of talking at this point: whispers seeking consent, murmured agreements, soft words of encouragement. No complete sentences were uttered, certainly none that Oswald could formulate much less remember. There was a point where he'd have forgotten his own name if Jim hadn't been so kind to use it, over and over, as he touched and kissed his way along all the planes of Oswald's body.

***

Getting Oswald out of his underwear was surprisingly easy; the shorts came off quickly ("but only if you take yours off too," was the one caveat, apparently), and Jim finally had the boy laid out in front of him in all his glory. Sure, the room was dark but there was a window: a few lit apartments across the way and street lamps whose acetylene glow reached as high as the third floor.

 ** _You're the light, you're the night_  **  
**_You're the color of my blood_ **

When he was exhausted and wanted sleep, the brightness annoyed the crap out of Jim. Now? A godsend. The feeble light made Cobblepot look like he was glowing. The milky white skin appeared as if carved from marble; the body - though not particularly muscular - was lean, toned, and smooth. 

 ** _You're the cure, you're the pain_**  
**_You're the only thing I wanna touch_**

Gordon really, really, _really_ wanted to get up close and personal with that uncircumcised penis. He'd obviously had hands-on experience with Oswald's dick already, but the first time was from behind (not the best vantage point) and then today with all that wonderful friction against his own. But eye-level? Yeah. He was definitely looking forward to that.

**_Never knew that it could mean so much_**

Top to bottom, stem to stern, he started to explore this wonderous creature in front of him - everywhere, of course, but where he really wanted to focus because he didn't want it to be over too soon. So Gordon kept an eye on his prize as he traveled along the peaks and valleys of Oswald's flesh; watched the organ swell from half-hard to fully erect, saw the foreskin retract and expose the glistening, rosy glans. By then his mouth was positively watering, and Oswald's breathy moans and contented sighs had him as horny as Jim could ever remember being with his previous partners.

 ** _Fading in, fading out_  **  
**_On the edge of paradise_**

Jim finally licked his way along the crease of his thigh, inhaling the musky-sweet-smoky scent that was uniquely Oswald before he ventured to flick his tongue up the underside of his cock. The younger man nearly levitated off the bed. 

 **_Every inch of your skin_ **  
**_Is a holy grail I've got to find_ **

"Nnngh...Jimwhatareyou _doing_?"

"Should be obvious, Oz," was the whispered response. "Just...never done this before so..." 

**_Only you can set my heart on fire_ **

The hiccupping gasps and fractured cries that followed were Jim's reward for his efforts. He was coordinated enough to get his mouth out of the way in time to gently finish Oswald off with his hand.

Oswald came back down to earth after his rather loud climax, watching as Jim thoughtfully mopped the cum off his stomach.  _Hm, how prescient of my detective to have a box of tissues so near._  

"James, have you ever had...a...a 'Screaming Orgasm'?" Oswald slurred, feeling very clever.

 _ **I'll let you set the pace**  _  
_**'Cause I'm not thinking straight**_

"I'm sorry?" Jim laughed, scooting up the bed a bit to drop a kiss on Oswald's forehead.

"S'made with Vodka, Triple Sec, Creme de...Creme de Cacao, Amaretto...and a splash of cream. We offer it at the club. Hm. Never had one of those before. Or one of _those_. I mean, you know what I mean, right?"

_**My head's spinning around  
** **I can't see clear no more** _

Jim smiled, pushing sweat-soaked bangs out of Cobblepot's eyes.  _Oh my God, he's delirious. He's friggin' adorable. Can I just please fuck him into the mattress before he passes out?_

_**What are you waiting for?** _

After a few minutes of French kissing, Oswald's head cleared (precisely when it dawned on him that he was tasting himself in Jim's mouth) and he managed to wrestle Jim over onto his back. (Well, Jim let him, but who's counting.)

"James, you spent so much time...I want to...are we...it's my turn, right?"

"Mm hmm," Jim agreed, amused at the younger man's attempt to put a coherent sentence together. 

 ** _...Touch me like you do..._  **  
**_What are you waiting for?_ **

"Oh. Good." Oswald smiled, peppering Jim's upper chest with feather-light kisses. "Do you have...supplies-"

"Check the drawer." Gordon tilted his head toward the night table, and Cobblepot scrambled over to the side of the bed to peak inside. He took out a tube of lubricant and several condoms. "Wait, three? I'm not 19 you know, Oz."

There it was again, that confounded _giggle_. If Jim's erection had been flagging in the least (which wasn't even a remote possibility), it would have been back to full mast just hearing that sound. 

 ** _Yeah I'll let you set the pace_  **  
**' _Cause I'm not thinking straight_**

"So, what's the best way for us to-"

"Um. Well, I've never done it in a bed, so-"

"You're no help whatsoever, are you?" Jim teased.

"I can be helpful!" Oswald quickly slicked his own fingers.

 ** _My head's spinning around_  **  
**_I can't see clear no more_ **

Jim noticed that Oswald, in straddling his hips, was putting all his weight on his knees. When he winced, Jim was about to ask if that was the best position for him, but the words dried on his tongue as he realized Oswald was preparing himself. He stared, slack jawed, glancing back and forth between the concentration on Oswald's face and the slender fingers that were working his hole.

"Jesus," Jim hissed, "let me." 

**_What are you waiting for?_ **

Cobblepot was back to full alertness (finally) and tossed the tube to Jim with his free hand. The next few minutes were a little confused as Jim slapped Oswald's hand out of the way and probed his entrance, further loosening him up with his fingers while Oswald tore one of the condom packets from the strip.

 ** _...Touch me like you do_  ...**  
**_What are you waiting for?_ **

Jim came close to jumping out of his skin when Oswald eased the condom on (well, because he had to pause to nibble Jim's cock first and _not helping)_ before adding a couple of two-handed strokes while lubing him up. _How the hell is he able to concentrate on my dick like that with three fingers up his ass?_

Oswald looked up at him and smirked.

"Oh. Did I say that outloud?"

"Mm."

***

With as much restraint as he could muster, Jim grabbed Oswald's hips and tugged him over to the left side of the bed. The younger man smiled when he figured out what Gordon was up to, and balanced most of his weight on his left side so he could ease his right leg off the side of the mattress. The detective held him steady as Oswald lowered himself onto Jim's cock. Jim gritted his teeth against the unbelievably tight fit _(holy mother of god that's so fucking good)_ , watching Cobblepot's face for any sign of discomfort. Other than the expected grimace and grunt as he tried to settle, he seemed alright.

"OK?"

"Mm hmm," Oswald huffed out, concentrating on the burn and the growing feeling of fullness. Soon he was fully seated, face flushed with exertion and arousal.

Jim stared at him, dumbstruck. It was the snuggest fit _(ever in the history of_   _mankind)_ as Oswald's hot channel gripped Jim's cock like a glove. 

"James?"

"Hm?"

"Moving. Ready?"

"Right."

After riding Jim for a few exploratory strokes with Jim's hands on his hips to stabilize him, Oswald let out a low groan that surprised them both. Jim froze, but Oswald bounced back down on Jim's dick to try and feel that again. Jim's brain caught up.

"S'that the spot?"

"I think so." Oswald, panting, scrambled upright again. Jim halted his movements, withdrawing before rolling them over. Gordon arranged the younger man on his back, somehow still being mindful of the bad knee, and re-entered him carefully until a needy Oswald urged him to _get on with it already_. Establishing a steady rhythm, he stared raptly at the juncture of their bodies as his cock pistoned in and out of Oswald's rosy hole. Jim did his best to aim for that little bundle of nerves, but he was worried that- 

"Oh! Oh my GOD!"

_Well, that worked._

Oswald's hands fisted in the sheets, head thrown back as Jim drew helpless moans from him in time with each obscenely wet-sounding thrust.

"Oz? Touch yourself," Jim gasped, amidst his own grunts of pleasure.

Oswald didn't hear him the first time. But the younger man gladly obeyed without question the second time, would have even if Jim hadn't outright  _begged_ him for it.

"Please, do it for me? God. That's...that's it, Ozzie. Please look at me."

Jim nailed Oswald's prostate again and again with the head of his cock and Oswald barely got off half a dozen strokes before he was coming. The rhythm had already been perfect...but the eye contact is really what did Oswald in. Eyes wide, the younger man's breath hitched and he called out his lover's name, toes curling as his muscles seized. Thick ribbons of cum jetted onto his chest as he nearly sobbed in ecstasy.

There was no question that Oswald's coming apart beneath him was the  _hottest_  thing Jim had ever seen. He felt his cock swell impossibly harder and his own release followed, with Jim erratically thrusting into his boy only a handful times before trying to still his trembling body and let Oswald's clenching muscles milk the rest of his orgasm from him.

Eventually Gordon balanced his weight on his forearms and knees, just hovering above Cobblepot so he wouldn't crush him.

"Won't be too heavy," Oswald murmured, smoothing his palms over Jim's back and pressing him closer. 

"Will too."

"S'ok. Promise." Jim didn't believe him, but gave in ( _because I'm pretty sure I'd do whatever he asked right now)_  and lowered himself so they were chest to chest.

"Ooh, sorry," Oswald chuckled, having forgotten about the wet mess that was now spread between them. Jim playfully made a face at him, but then remembered he needed to take care of the condom.

Oswald made a soft noise of protest when Jim rose and pulled out, as disappointed to lose the precious connection as Jim was.

"Shh. I know." He pecked Oswald lightly on the lips. "Be right back."

Gordon slipped back into the bedroom after taking care of business, with Oswald's pill box and a warm, damp washcloth in his hands. As they were getting under the covers, Jim handed both items to a surprised Cobblepot who set the box on the night stand before wiping himself down, his lips curved into a tiny smile. 

There weren't any more words; speaking would have been superfluous now. They settled in close, Gordon softly kissing his bed mate before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

After playing the evening back in his head, Oswald was almost more overwhelmed than he had been when he was experiencing it. His previous encounters had been brief, impersonal, almost business-like in their structure. He hadn't minded at all, he'd appreciated the efficiency of it. But this interlude with Jim was the very opposite of brief. It was lingering and deliberate...and _fun_. Huh. He hadn't ever thought to associate  _fun_ with sex.

There was something else, too. This gnawing ache like he was about to cry. It had happened twice tonight already. Sure, he could explain away an emotional response to an orgasm as an involuntary reaction to the release of endorphins. But the earlier time? It had occurred while Jim was exploring him, handling him so carefully and attentively. Jim's pouring over his body like he was an exotic work of art had stirred an odd sensation in Oswald's chest, a tightness in his throat, a blurring of his vision. He'd had to forcibly bite his lip to snap out of it.

Now he was having that pesky feeling yet  _again_ , and he turned away from watching Jim in order to retrieve a tissue. Maybe it was allergies. _Did Jim have a plant?_ What Oswald really needed was to get some sleep. He was obviously thinking way too much.


	14. riding the wave

Jim Gordon had a habit of sleeping light and waking early from his days in the service. _Keep one eye open and be attack-ready upon rising_ , was the motto he lived by. Of course, his body had learned to relax somewhat since returning to Gotham, knowing that there was no imminent threat of danger. But the light sleeping remained his norm.

When Gordon opened his eyes at half past 8 AM that morning, he realized what a deep sleep he’d gotten; how refreshed and tranquil he felt. It was almost decadent to wake without an alarm on a Friday, the warmth of the sun nudging him to consciousness.

Jim regarded the dark head snuggled against his shoulder; the pliant body curled into his own. It was a rare moment of stillness for Oswald Cobblepot – a man somehow always in constant motion - and Jim intended to enjoy just watching him. Jim had always known, if not always admitted, that Cobblepot was attractive. But, cards on the table? The boy – _his_ boy, as he now thought of him – was breathtaking. Jim watched the sooty eyelashes flutter in sleep, looked closely at the fine bone structure and porcelain skin, the rosy lips, the slender neck and captivating collarbone that peeked out of the bedding.

Somehow, it was the first time he’d noticed the spray of freckles across the bridge of Oswald’s nose. The very idea that a _detective_  had missed that detail seemed ludicrous and he huffed a quiet laugh at himself.

Ocean-colored eyes flicked open at the small sound.

“Oh, hey there, sleepy head.”

“Mm. Whass’so funny?” Oswald said, drowsy and very, very comfortable.

“I never noticed your freckles before.”

“Oh. _Those_ ,” he murmured distastefully. “Wh'time'sit?”

“8:40. No alarm today.”

Oswald sighed contentedly and burrowed closer to Jim’s body heat. “Good. Not getting up.”

Jim chuckled and turned on his side to face Cobblepot. “Mm. Something’s already up.”

“J-James.” Oswald wiggled closer as Jim teased his morning erection through the sheet, “You are…delightfully insatiable.” He moved both Jim’s hand and the sheet out of the way to press his length directly against Jim’s matching wood. “Oh.” He tentatively rolled his hips, slowly rubbing his cock alongside Jim’s. “Oh, that is quite a lovely way to wake up.”

“God, yes,” Jim whispered, resting his hands on Cobblepot’s pale shoulders. “So good.”

Oswald looked up through his fringe of dark lashes, lips parted, breathing harder. Jim leaned in and licked those pretty lips, then licked his way into the hot mouth until the two men were sharing slow, wet kisses.

They didn’t rush their lazy thrusting, just held on and kissed through their quiet gasps of pleasure. The gentle stimulation was just as fulfilling as hard, fast fucking. Their orgasms were quiet, tremulous things; both men quivering and pressed as close as physically possible until their bodies calmed.

Oswald let out a satisfied sigh. “Yes, indeed. A lovely way to wake up, James.” He rolled onto his back and tossed aside the sheet, stretching his limbs languidly as he yawned. Jim took the opportunity to gaze unabashedly at the milky, naked flesh before him. “Do pardon me for a few moments, though? I'm afraid nature calls.” The younger man planted a kiss on Jim’s shoulder, slid out of bed and limped gracefully - unconcerned with his state of déshabillé - to the bathroom.

Jim smiled to see Cobblepot seemingly disregard his previous modesty. _Good. I hope I can cure whatever body shame someone planted in his head._

***

“So what did you want to do today?” Gordon asked, seated on the commode lid to watch Cobblepot fuss with his newly-gelled spiky hair. 

“Oh. Whatever you’re inclined to do, James. I’m at your disposal.” Oswald was actually quite content to just sit around and talk to Jim. They had enjoyed a relaxed breakfast of cheese omelets, bacon and toast (which Oswald prepared, to Jim's delight), and also had pleasant conversation over tea and coffee, each armed with a different section of the day's Gotham Times. 

“Well, I mean, it might be nice to get out for a bit; get some fresh air. It's nearly lunchtime, after all.”

Oswald caught Jim’s eye in the mirror. “What? You’d be seen out ... _publicly_ with me?”

“Oz," Jim smiled gently, "remember, I wasn't the one who told you to hide. I mean, I’m not ready to stroll through Gotham Park holding hands, but we can certainly go somewhere in each other’s company. We are, theoretically, _friends_ , aren't we?”

Oswald looked at Jim, thinking hard. _This turn of events is most surprising._ Not only had Oswald not considered the option of leaving Jim's apartment until he went to the club Saturday afternoon, but he’d not given even a passing thought to activities in which he and Jim might share a common interest. It was honestly a little thrilling to imagine being out and about for an entire day with Jim Gordon. 

“Well, then. Would something indoor or outdoor be most suitable? I'd wager it’s not quite balmy enough to be roaming about the city.”  _Though even stranded on an iceberg would be fine,_ he thought to himself, and almost laughed aloud at the irony.  _Ho! Iceberg. Penguin. I'm a clever one!_

“OK, that’s a start. Something indoors,” Jim agreed.

Oswald tapped a finger against his lips. “Hm. I might have an idea for dinner? If you would be amenable to a cab ride to one of the boroughs, I’d like it to be _my_ treat this time.”

Gordon nodded. Oswald had expensive tastes; better that he foot the bill than Jim have to downgrade their experience because he couldn't afford the tab. He felt decidedly better about letting a man pay for something than a woman, as sexist as that seemed.

“Alright. You handle the meal planning. I’ll take care of entertainment. How about the Guggenheim Museum? If you haven’t yet seen the Thannhauser Gallery, the collection is full of Van Gogh, Picasso, Renoir-”

“Ooh. The _Guggenheim_ ,” Oswald enthused. “I haven’t been there in years. That would be such fun, James! I do enjoy art, as you've already noted.” He smiled so brightly, Jim felt his stomach flip.  _  
_

With plans resolved, Jim slipped behind Oswald and wrapped his arms around his waist. He held Oswald’s eyes in the mirror as he leaned in to kiss his neck. "Watch me," Jim murmured.

Oswald’s face flushed a pretty shade of pink as his eyes tracked the detective's movements; the blond pressed wet kisses up his jaw and across to his neck again, dipping his tongue into Oswald's ear and then blowing softly.

“Jim, oh, God..." Oswald moaned. He grabbed onto the detectives' hands until their fingers were twined.

“Won’t be able to do this outside…need to get my fill now.”

Oswald's breath shortened and he leaned his head back on Jim’s shoulder, groaning when Jim sucked a spot just above his collar, raising an obvious bruise even as he watched. 

“Mine," Jim said gruffly, pressing his fingers into the bruise and making the younger man squirm. "No girlfriend, no harem. Just you. Are we clear?”

"Y-yes?" 

“Tell me, Oz." He licked the love bite and then nipped at Oswald's earlobe.

“I-ahh," he sucked in a breath, "I'm _yours_ , Jim." Then Oswald looked in the mirror at their joined hands and asked in a small voice, "Does that mean...Uh. I mean, will you be mine, too, then?"

Gordon swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He turned the young man around and looked directly into those pools of aqua. There, he saw no masks, no walls; no carefully crafted Penguin persona. Not a rising gangster, not a kingpin wanna-be. Just twenty-five year old Oswald Cobblepot. Laid bare, more naked in that moment than he'd been without clothes. Oswald, trying to understand; hopeful but still scared. He had no frame of reference for what was happening here with Gordon; _any_ of it.

"Aw, Ozzie, c'mere." Jim wrapped the man in a hug and whispered, "I'm _already_ yours." 

***

Harvey Bullock could hold his liquor. But it was wonderful to catch some extra z's on a Friday morning instead of heading to work with a hangover. 

Bullock had spent some time the night before wracking his brain to figure out who on earth Jim Gordon could be shagging. The man was as upstanding and virtuous as they come; one-man-woman and all that happy crap. The bearded detective couldn't imagine what kind of chick could pull Jim away from a cream puff like Leslie Thomkins. He wondered: had the Lincoln been a limo service, or had Jim met a celebrity? An actress, maybe a singer? Was it the daughter of a VIP, like a politician or a mobster? Bullock knew he was inappropriately preoccupied about Gordon's love life; maybe he was jealous. He tried not to examine his reasons for wanting to know what was going on. 

Before Harvey had gone to sleep ( _passed out,_ more like) Thursday night, he'd had it in his head to go back to Gordon's neighborhood and stake his place out first thing. I mean, the happy couple wouldn't stay holed up in there all weekend, would they? Well, maybe they would. Jeez, that would be really boring, sitting outside Jimbo's apartment building doing exactly _nada_ all day. 

So when he woke up on Friday at nearly 12 noon, Harvey cursed his stupidity for forgetting to set the alarm. It would be a waste of time to head over to Gordon's _now_ ; he'd probably already missed the younger cop and his new main squeeze slipping out for breakfast. He'd missed all the action.

If Harvey could come up with some lame-ass excuse to show up unannounced at Jimbo's apartment on Saturday instead, he might get a glimpse of the bird. Just for shits and giggles, of course.

Hm. He might just do that.


	15. wine and water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little conversation, a little fluff, a little porn. Public-date time for Jim and Ozzie in this chapter. 
> 
> Il Triangolo is an actual Italian restaurant in Corona, NY. The menu items mentioned are real, but the rest is fictional.

“Don’t you get paid well enough to handle things like this on your own?” Oswald seethed, _sotto voce_ , after listening to his right hand man prattle on about a disturbing inconsistency in the latest liquor delivery.  

Jim, seated next to Oswald in a yellow cab heading uptown, took the opportunity to check his own voice mail so he wouldn’t listen too carefully to Cobblepot’s business dealings.

“Well, of course I care, you buffoon! But I am otherwise occupied at the moment. I fully appreciate the situation and would like you to _handle_ it. I trust not altogether differently from the way _she_ would have had you handle it. Call me back if you need clarification, but no need to defer taking action; remember I won’t be in until 6 PM tomorrow. Are we clear?”

Oswald pinched the bridge of his nose after ending the call, somewhat exasperated.

“Trouble with the help?” Jim asked, innocently, slipping his own phone back into his pocket.

“Oh, he knows the business. Far better than I do. But he confuses me. One minute he’s overly familiar and almost condescending; then he will be positively deferential and unable to make a decision without consulting me. A happy medium is all I ask. Right now Butch is truly indispensable to me, but-“

“Butch?” Jim’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “As in, Butch Gilzean? I thought he left town with Fish! Don’t tell me he works for _you_ now?”

“It’s…complicated,” Oswald sighed, looking at Jim’s concerned face. “He…I don’t know the whole story of course, but he apparently enabled Fish's escape by allowing himself to be captured by Falcone’s people.”

“How can you trust him?”

“I don’t. Not really. But you see I’m stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place. Alone, I was incapable of getting _Oswald’s_ to turn a profit. I am more than competent as a restaurant manager, but less so as a nightclub owner.” Cobblepot made a face. “When Falcone proposed Butch as my right hand, I was taken aback. But the man knows his stuff.”

“I’m surprised he’d work for you.”

“Me too. But…I don’t believe he’s been given much of a say in the matter. He spent some…quality time with Victor Zsasz.” Gordon visibly flinched at the name. “So Butch is _different_ now. I don’t trust him to not double-cross me down the line, but he does seem to have my back in the running of my establishment. What Falcone wants, Falcone gets, right? Butch has a fondness for that club, regardless of who owns it now.”

Gordon sat in quiet contemplation of this new information. Could he trust Gilzean to have Oswald’s back, really?

“Jim. It’s okay. Gabe keeps an eye on things.”

“I know, it’s just…disturbing.”

“Butch is a valuable asset.” Cobblepot turned the cell phone over and over in his hands. “But I am aware of the danger in presuming his loyalty will ever lie with me. Suspicion is inherent in my line of work, Jim. Speaking of which, I apologize for having had to take that call and derail our conversation.”

“Don’t be silly. You can take calls. I didn’t expect you to cut yourself off from the world for the weekend. Thanks for keeping it to a minimum so far.”

“Of course.” Oswald tucked the phone into his inside breast pocket. Alongside his ever present switchblade.

Gordon, with Oswald's blessing, wore his off-duty handgun in an ankle holster. He realized keeping company with a rising mob boss would make one or both of them a target – even at some place as innocuous as a museum. He’d asked Oswald if he minded Jim carrying a firearm on their excursion, and the younger man expressed gratitude for the consideration.  

Cobblepot, needless to say, had not mentioned that his own (illegal) weapon would be on his person. Some things were better left unsaid.

***

“Good thing we decided to do this today. Looks like they were closed yesterday,” Oswald whispered as Jim bought the tickets. Then, he spied the metal detector he realized he'd have to pass through in order to enter the main gallery of the museum. Before he'd had a chance to concoct a story ( _uh, metal pins in my leg my hip my head)_ for the ticket clerk, Jim sensed his dismay. The detective showed the clerk his GCPD badge and asked if they could use the Members' turnstile instead.

“Jim?”

Gordon shook his head curtly to silence his companion, hand resting in the middle of Cobblepot's back to guide him forward.

_Huh. I’ll be damned._

“All this walking going to be okay for you? I didn't even think of that when I suggested we come here.”

Cobblepot smiled. “As long as we sit every so often and don’t race around the halls, I should be fine. Thank you,” he added softly, with a slight dip of his head.

They’d arrived around 1:00 PM, and spent the better part of the afternoon there quietly discussing the art and the building itself. They stopped at the Wright Restaurant about 90 minutes into the visit - ostensibly for tea and pastries though Oswald was pretty sure it was Jim's way of letting him sit for an extended period - and then resumed touring the exhibits until nearly closing time. The Museum Store was open 30 minutes longer than the exhibits, and the two men parted once inside to do a little shopping.

Oswald bought Jim a history of Frank Lloyd Wright’s design of the museum after witnessing Gordon’s fascination with the architecture. What Cobblepot didn't expect was that Jim bought _him_ a book containing reproductions of the black and white Pablo Picasso exhibit he'd lingered over. After they hailed a cab headed to Queens for dinner, the two men clumsily exchanged gifts amidst stepping on each other’s sentences.

“Since you seemed to admire the-“

“Here, Jim. I thought this would make a nice souv-“

“Oz! you didn't have to do that-”

“Wait, you got _me_ something?”

It was too conspicuous to make out in the back of the cab no matter how much Jim wanted to kiss him, so he instead slipped an arm around Oswald and tugged him close until their thighs were touching. Oswald squeezed Jim's hand so hard the detective's appendage was numb for 10 minutes. Their embarrassed grins didn't fade for the duration of the ride.

***

Oswald Cobblepot appreciated good Italian food and wine, even more keenly since managing Bamonte’s for a few months. So, he chose to bring Jim Gordon to Il Triangolo in Corona. Cobblepot had spent time in Northwestern Queens when he got out of high school, working odd jobs in Astoria and even Woodside. But anyone he'd known back then would have agreed that the best eats in the area were had at Il Triangolo.

Jim wisely deferred to Oswald when the sommalier stopped by their table with the wine list. Brunello di Montalcino Castelgiocondo was ordered to accompany their appetizer and dinner selections - the $100 vintage was a bit modest for Oswald's taste but he didn't want Jim objecting to the Barolo Monfortino he actually had his eye on. A huge plate of antipasto, homemade bread and Il Triangolo's famous olive spread got them started. The specials the maître d' described sounded so exceptional that's what they went with. (Just as well, as it would have been difficult to pick from the mouth-watering standard menu.) Oswald selected Chitarra Fruiti di Mare, Jim got the Veal Rolatini, and for dessert, the best biscotti either of them had ever tasted. Normally a tea drinker, Oswald made a rare exception and joined Jim in an Italian coffee beverage.

“Trust me, James. Their espresso is a thing of beauty.”

Gordon murmured something along the lines of, " _You're_ a thing of beauty." Oswald flushed a deep red and nearly choked on his wine. Jim smiled beatifically, amused at how easy it was to fluster his companion. Oswald found himself more and more aroused by Jim's constant flirting as the night progressed and hatched a plan to get the man back.

The maître d', a handsome man of about 30 years named Angelo, watched the couple as inconspicuously as he could from his station. The two men barely touched one another – though Angelo did catch them brushing their fingers together at least once as they drank their wine - but it was all about the eyes; their eyes gave them away completely. The way they gazed softly at each other like they were the only two people in the city, told a story. They had held eye contact almost constantly when they weren't looking at their dinnerware, and when they did need to look down, each would sneak a peek at the other trying not to get caught.

Angelo was dating one of the wait staff, and knew all about surreptitious glances.

The dark haired man was inclined to blush more effusively than the blond, Angelo noted. The blond, who seemed a little older, was more likely to tease and cajole the other, causing the blush. The dynamic reminded Angelo of the early days of his relationship with Tonio, who had also turned red at the drop of a hat until he was confident enough of Angelo’s feelings. 

This couple was fairly new in their relationship; had to be. Perhaps their reticence to openly show affection was because they weren't publicly out of the closet. Angelo didn't know the reason, but his heart warmed to watch them. He wondered if either of them had confessed their feelings yet, despite how obvious it was to anyone who knew what to look for. He decided not to charge them for the dessert; the restaurant could afford a little gift for love's sake.

***

Thanks to the sweet maître d' (Oswald was so impressed with the service he discreetly passed him a $100 tip on the way out, in addition to the $100 each he left for the waiter and sommalier), a cab was waiting out front and the two men took their museum bags and were off to Jim's apartment. Jim noticed Oswald was a little quiet and hoped he hadn't gone too far with the flirting. He knew Cobblepot was unaccustomed to that kind of attention, but Gordon really wanted him to get used to it. Plus it was so much fun to see the boy - _his_ boy - pink up with each compliment he paid him.

When they got into the elevator 20 minutes later, Oswald took Jim's bag from him without a word and, strangely enough, stacked the two books neatly on the floor beside him. Jim was about to ask what he was doing when Cobblepot hit the "Stop" button with a flourish - stranding the elevator between the 2nd and 3rd floors.

"Oz?"

Faster than he'd thought the man could move, Oswald was on his knees and opening Jim's trousers.

"Shit, what...Here?"

"Shh," was all Cobblepot would say, taking Jim's hardening cock out and kissing along its length.

"Jesus. My apartment is...ah... _two_ fucking minutes away, Oz... _Gah_."

"..."  _Really Jim, you know I can't talk with my mouth full._

"What if someone needs the elev-"

"Hush. There's two."

Cobblepot resumed his ministrations, alternately licking and sucking Gordon's now fully erect member. The detective staggered back against the wall and thrust his hand into Oswald's thick head of hair, tugging the carefully sculpted 'do until the man moaned around his cock. Oswald took Jim in as far as he could, grabbing the man's buttocks and encouraging him forward until Jim got the drift and stopped holding back. He gave in and began thrusting into Oswald's mouth, groaning helplessly every time he hit the back of the man's throat and felt Oswald swallow around him after his tongue did obscenely clever things to his shaft. It didn't take long for Gordon to climax, and Oswald got his wish from the last time he'd blown Jim: tears streamed from his eyes as he struggled not to choke on the final few uninhibited thrusts but he didn't back off until Jim was finished. When he let the softening cock leave his lips, he took out his handkerchief and demurely wiped the cum from his mouth and chin, then folded the cotton neatly and dabbed his eyes with a clean section. Jim let out an almost hysterical laugh at the prim picture kneeling at his feet. 

"Seriously," he gasped. "You couldn't wait?"

He helped Cobblepot up, who was by this time wearing an extremely smug smile.

" _Wait_ , Jim? After all that foreplay during dinner? As it is I could barely stop myself from crawling under the table to fellate you in public."

He was rewarded with a long, probing kiss. When they separated, Jim tucked himself away and Cobblepot straightened out his suit jacket with a smirk before hitting the "Resume" button as if nothing had happened at all.


	16. sailing, sailing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Friday night, plus Harvey's unexpected visit on Saturday. M/M loving, you have been warned.

“Oh. My. God. When did you get ready for me?”

“Uhhhh, restaurant men’s room. Y-you were d-driving me crazy, I had to.”

 “I love that I can drive you crazy. Is _this_ ," Jim asked, rubbing his cock along the crack of Oswald's ass, "what you wanted?”

“God, yes! Please. Oh, please, Jim…” Oswald spread his legs further, hunched over on his hands and knees while Jim entered him from behind.

“Fuck. You beg so beautifully.  Put a hand up, baby.”

“Wh-why?”

“Because otherwise your pretty face… is gonna… hit the headboard.”

“Right. Ohh, r-right there.”

“Here?”

A high pitched whine was the response; the only other sounds were the slap of skin on skin, the squelch of lubed body parts, and the dull thud of Oswald’s wrist meeting the wooden headboard.

“You feel so fucking good, Ozzie.”

Oswald managed an incoherent phrase that resembled “So do you,” but it trailed off into a moan that raised goose bumps on Jim’s arms. Gordon gripped the slender hips tighter.

“H-harder, Jim.”

_Jesus you’re killing me._

Jim pulled Oswald back fully onto his cock so that the younger man was practically sitting on his lap before pushing him back to his knees and fucking into him like his life depended on it.

“You…gonna come on my cock, baby?”

“Yes…Oh, God.” Oswald grunted, giving himself a couple of tugs with his left hand before crying out and spilling onto the towel beneath them. All the air was sucked out of Gordon’s lungs as he felt himself fall over the cliff, emptying himself into the condom while Oswald’s spasms rocked him to the core. After a brief rest draped over Oswald's back, he carefully unfolded the younger man and cleaned up so they could spoon.

“Mmm.”

“Mmm?” Jim echoed, teasingly, running a fingertip along Oswald's arm. 

Oswald, naturally, giggled. "Just enjoying this. You. When can we do that without a condom? I want to feel you...nothing between us. Want you to come inside me.”

“…”

“I’ll get tested right away, though you should know I’ve never had intercourse without protection.”

“…”

“Jim?”

Gordon took hold of Cobblepot's chin and feverishly kissed him, in theory to silence the younger man, but really to collect himself. He’d not expected that. After the kiss, he settled behind Oswald again and spoke into his ear.

“That's g-good, Oz…I’m clean. Got tested while I was at Arkham. So, whenever you want. ”

Oswald smiled serenely, snuggling into Gordon’s warm embrace.

“Great. I’ll take care of it this week.”

***

_Lame._

There wasn’t a damn thing Harvey Bullock could come up with that made any sense in order to just “drop by” Jim Gordon’s apartment on Saturday. So he made something up.  Something lame.

He knocked on Gordon’s door, laden with a freshly wrapped box of cronuts from Dominque Ansel in Soho. He heard footsteps and a rustling of something before the younger detective yelled “Coming” and then the locks were thrown and Bullock was face-to-face with his partner. Who did not look amused.

“Jimbo!” Bullock exclaimed, thrusting the bakery box in his hands and pushing past him to enter the apartment. “You keeping outta trouble?”

“Uh. Hi, Harvey. Come on in, why don’t you,” he grumbled sarcastically, seeing as Bullock was already halfway down the hall.

“Thanks, thanks. Just spent some quality time with the Duchess – you remember her, right? – and seeing as I was downtown thought I’d swing by Ansel’s and pick up those croissant-donut thingies you liked when we were on stakeout last month.”

“Oh. Gee, just what I wanted.” Jim followed him into the living room.

Harvey stood in the center of Jim’s small living space, giving his best _I’m not really looking around for clues_ once-over to the furniture. Not a thing out of place. _Damn it._

Wait. There it was. A pair of cufflinks on the coffee table.

“Jim, you been holding out on me!”

Gordon felt his stomach drop as he set the box of baked goods down. “What do you mean, Harv?”

“Cufflinks? Since when do you get all dolled up to go out anywhere? You had a hot date!”

Jim’s sudden cold sweat was replaced by a brief wash of relief. _He thinks they’re *my* cufflinks. Good. I can work with that._

“Uh, yeah. You got me. I did go out…”

“She must have some money, eh?” Gordon just stared at him, not inclined to answer on the best of occasions, certainly not now.

“Come on, Jim. Give me something. For Chrissakes, you left Leslie. _Leslie_ , you know?”

Gordon sighed, feeling put upon but needing to get Harvey out of the apartment soon before Oswald had a heart attack.

“Yes, I know who Leslie is. Why, you want to take her out yourself?”

“No, not me. She’s outta my league. I think Nygma might go for it.”

“Nyg…no, I don’t even want to contemplate that. Thanks for the visual, though.”

Bullock chortled. “So, here’s the thing. You have a hickey-“

Jim’s hand flew up to his neck, having forgotten about that little present he got this morning from a content and cuddly Oswald.   _Good thing he can’t see the rest of me._

“You wore cufflinks…what else? Big night at the opera or something? She still here?”

“There’s no woman here, Harvey,” Jim said carefully. “But I did go out with someone very special to me, and that’s really all I’m willing to say.  It’s still a little…new.”

“You gonna introduce me at some point? So’s I can give her a little insight to the Jim Gordon I know?” Harvey had the gall to wink at Jim.

“Eventually, I’m sure you’ll cross paths. If you haven’t already,” Jim added slyly, starting to have a little fun with this.

“Really? Has she been by the precinct? Ooh, is it that blond witness from last week with the legs that went on forever plus a rack you could-“

“Did you want me to open up the box of pastries so we can eat, or was this your excuse to drop by and play twenty questions?”

“Sure, sure. Let’s eat.”

Gordon picked the bakery box up again and led Harvey to the kitchen. He put on a kettle and scooped instant coffee into two mugs while Bullock tore into the box and set a cronut for each of them on a paper towel.

***

Oswald sat on the edge of Jim’s bed, trying not to make a sound. He’d been in the bathroom finishing up his hair when that mindless _dolt_ showed up, cutting into his prep time. Jim wisely asked him to wait in the bedroom, in case whoever was at the door came in and then actually needed to use the facilities. But good God, when was the idiot going to _leave_ already?

***

“So, you going out again tonight?”

“Why all the questions, Harvey? Are you that bored that checking out my weekend is the most excitement you’ve got going on? I’d have thought time with the Duchess would have worn you out.”

“Oh, it did. Last night. Today I’m full of energy. Want to go out for a couple drinks tonight if you’re not tapping your little bird?”

Gordon could not hold back his laughter. _Oh Harvey, if you only knew._

“Listen,” Jim chuckled, while Harvey looked at him like he had three heads. “I can’t. I’m pretty beat from my late night of debauchery. You know how it is. Plus, I’m a little hungover. Think I’ll just sack out on the sofa and watch cheesy porn while-”

“Oh, hello. TMI, Boy Scout. That’s my cue to get outta here.”

_Oh, thank God._

“But if you want my advice…”

“Not really.”

“Right. OK, so good luck with your new friend. Feel free to have her drop by the GCPD sometime for lunch. I can’t wait to meet whoever it is that pried you from the good doctor’s loving arms.”

“I’ll…do that.” _Someday. When this all blows up in my stupid face._

“Harv, you want the rest of the cronuts?”

“Nah, bring whatever’s left to work on Monday. Stick ‘em in the fridge, I guess, to keep ‘em fresh.”

“You got it.”

Harvey turned the corner and headed back to the living room for his jacket. “Cufflinks. Man, those are sharp.” He picked them up and looked carefully at them.

_Holy shit, let them not be engraved with his initials._

“Nice. You get these from Barbara? Cuz they’re much classier taste than I’d expect from you, you galoot. What’s this, mother of pearl or something?”

“Uh, I don’t really remember. Accessories aren’t my thing.” Jim was trying so hard not to outright lie; he’d done a good job so far, but this was a stretch. “C’mon Harv, stop touching my things.”

***

After he’d shown Bullock out and opened the bedroom door, a red-faced Cobblepot nearly exploded with indignity.

“Mother of Pearl? Those cufflinks are set with pure ivory! Good grief, he is such a cretin,” Oswald bemoaned, arms crossed petulantly over his chest.

Jim did his best to keep a straight face.


	17. horse lattitudes

His bags were in order, and Gabe would be ringing the doorbell in 20 minutes. Once Harvey Bullock had taken his leave (and Oswald finished his hair), Jim took the younger man by the hand and sat him on the sofa.

“Did you overhear everything?”

Oswald shook his head. “No, once you were in the kitchen I couldn’t hear a thing. Why?”

“Just wanted to be sure you heard the important parts.”

A small, genuine smile graced Cobblepot’s features. “Oh. The part about seeing someone special to you? Message received, loud and clear.”

Gordon rubbed his hands up and down Oswald’s arms. “Good. If this comes out, and eventually it will, I don’t want there to be any opportunity for Harvey to come back and say I lied to him. I never confirmed my date was a woman, and I made sure he understood the person was important to me.”

Another nod of confirmation.

“So.”

Oswald sighed. “So. I guess it’s back to reality now.”

 _“This_ is reality too, Ozzie.” 

“Have I told you...” the dark haired man paused, looking down at his lap for a moment before meeting Gordon’s eyes, “how much these past three days have meant to me?” Jim smiled and shrugged.

“Maybe not in those exact words, but, yeah, you have. Me too.”

“I’m going to miss you.” Try as he might, Oswald couldn’t stop his voice from hitching at the end.

“Oh, hey." Jim leaned in to kiss Oswald, noting how the man’s eyes adorably fluttered shut before Jim got to his lips. When Jim made to move, Oswald chased his mouth, not allowing him to break the kiss quite yet. When they parted, Jim said, "Miss you too. But call me tonight? If you find a spare moment?”

“How late?” Cobblepot laughed. “I don’t want you missing your beauty rest.”

“I don’t know, midnight?”

Cobblepot looked pensive for a moment, and then brightened with an idea.

“How about I call earlier so you can get some rest…and Gabe can bring me back here when I get off work? It will be about 4:30, and I promise to just sneak in and go to sleep. But this way…we’ll get an extra half day together and not have to abort this idyllic weekend.”

“You’re a very resourceful fellow, Mr. Cobblepot,” Gordon smirked. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Probably because I’m better at scheming than you are!”

And that’s how James Gordon came to give Oswald Cobblepot his very own key.

Oswald’s bags stayed right where they were for the time being.  When Gabe pulled up downstairs, Jim escorted his companion to the car, keeping a wary eye out – not for people spying on them, but for anyone who might have it in for the nightclub owner.

***

Sitting at his usual place in _Oswald’s_ , front and center on a barstool, Butch Gilzean nodded to the proprietor as the man arrived at precisely 6:00 PM. 

There was something different about Oswald Cobblepot today.

Gilzean tried to put his finger on it without staring at the man. There was nothing amiss about his wardrobe or even his halting gait. He just looked…serene. Most days, Butch thought Oswald seemed to be one step from frantic - what Butch affectionately referred to as “a hot minute away from losing his shit.”

“Good vacation, Oswald?”

“Butch. Yes, actually. I had a lovely getaway. It was quite refreshing to not focus on business for 48 hours or so. I highly recommend it.”

“What, did you go to a spa or something? You look like you’ve been partaking of Dead Sea mineral baths,” Gilzean joked.

“No, nothing quite so luxurious. In fact, I spent time with a dear friend and, shall we say, benefited from an advancement of our relationship.”

“You nabbed yourself a girlfriend?”

Cobblepot gave him a look that basically said _Bitch, please._

“A boyfriend, then.”

“More like. And it wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to divulge much more than that, other than to say I am a _very_ lucky man.” Oswald started leafing through the receipts from Thursday and Friday nights.

“Congratulations, then. Will we be seeing your friend at the club more often?”

“ _More_ often?” Cobblepot looked up from the ledger, a wrinkle in his brow. “You make that sound as though he’s been here before. Have I been indiscreet?”

“No, no. Just assumed. Figured it was someone you already knew. Most people you know come here if they want to see you.”

Oswald nodded, smiling tightly.

“Very good, Butch. I knew I liked you. You’re a smart man. Smart enough, I trust, to know when to cease your line of questioning. Learning some of the answers might be dangerous. But I’ll indulge your last inquiry, as it is general enough not to cause grave concern. I don’t know if my… _companion_ will frequent the club any more often than he already does, _if_ he already does. An increase in his profile might not be prudent. He and I may need to find creative ways to spend time together. But I will say this.” Cobblepot shut the ledger and tucked it under his arm. “When the time comes for my relationship to become public knowledge, I will do whatever it takes to protect this man from harm. His safety where I'm concerned is non-negotiable, regardless the consequences.”

Cobblepot turned on his heel and strode toward his office, nodding at the wait staff supervisor who was emerging from the storage room with a case of champagne.

“Hold my calls,” he said over his shoulder to Butch, his glance including Gabe who had appeared at Gilzean's side, “for about an hour while I look the books over. Oh, and Butch?” He turned abruptly. Gilzean folded his hands and gazed mildly in his direction. “I deeply appreciate your managing the club in my absence. Be careful before you toss out that newspaper, would you?”

As Oswald limped away, Gilzean lifted up his copy of the Gotham Times and found a white envelope with his name handwritten in an elegant script. Inside were five crisp $100 bills with a note in the same handwriting that read, _"It is thought that fealty and faith are much their own reward. However, I find that cash is king. O.C."_

***

At 7 PM, the doorknob rattled just before a knock came. Oswald had locked himself in the office to prevent his being disturbed, so when he glanced at his watch and saw his hour was up he muttered a quiet expletive and hobbled over to give a piece of his mind to the interloper. He threw open the door, but his speech left him when he realized Don Carmine Falcone himself stood on the other side.

"Cobblepot," Falcone snapped, "do you always keep your door locked when you're in there?"

"D-don Falcone, sir." Oswald smoothed his waistcoat nervously. "Please come in. I was tending to the books and, well, I wasn't expecting you. I would have had you shown in immediately."

"Oh, I wasn't waiting long. I just got here. Merely found it strange that your door was locked when I tried to enter."

"Didn't Butch-"

"I waved Gilzean off to tend to his own matters. I can handle walking to your office by myself."

"What brings you here to my fine establishment?" Cobblepot chirped with a false grin that was almost a grimace.

"Well, I think we need to have a talk."

Oswald felt a sweat break out on his brow. "A...a talk? W-what about, sir? I mean, I've been quite timely in my payments and business has picked up cons-"

"That."

Cobblepot sat in the chair opposite the Don once the older man had seated himself. "Which _that_ , if I may?"

"Business picking up. Nicely done, by the way. I told you Gilzean was the man for you."

"Yes, sir."

"But I actually wanted to talk to you about your recent time off."

"Sir?" Oswald tugged anxiously at his cuff, twisting the ivory and gold cufflink to help ground himself.  _He can't possibly know..._

"I find it terribly lax of you to take time off at this critical time in your development."

"Don Falcone, with all due respect, am I expected to be at the club every day for the rest of my life? If I have a talent like Butch Gilzean that can oversee the business-"

"No, not _every_ day. But two nights in a row? And one of them a Friday night? Friday and Saturday are your best nights, Oswald. I need you here, not out gallivanting."

"Sir, I assure you. I checked in and things were well in hand."

"No matter, Oswald. You are not to take off two nights in a row without express permission from me - and I can tell you that I would be hard pressed to let you have a Friday night off."

Oswald felt his face grow hot as he struggled to control his temper, knowing that this was neither the time nor the place to show disrespect to the Boss. _You are becoming more oppressive than ever, old man._  

"May I ask, sir, how it came to your attention that I was absent from _Oswald's_?"  _So I can wring the sonofabitch's neck?_

Falcone had the nerve to let out a deep belly laugh. "Oh! That's rich, Oswald. You can ask, of course! But don't expect an answer." The old man caught his breath, still heaving a little in his show of mirth. "I know everything, Oswald. _That's why I'm the Don_."

Cobblepot clenched his fists briefly, then consciously relaxed his fingers. "Well, of course. I suppose you do have eyes everywhere. Please understand I wasn't trying to escape notice, I just needed a little time away to refresh my mind. I wouldn't have thought to bother you with such trifles, but it won't happen again. I will request my days off in advance and, of course, from you directly."

"Yes, very good. I will say, I almost paid a visit to your mother to see if you were there. But I thought, why alarm the sweet woman in the event she didn't know your whereabouts." Oswald ground his teeth together so hard at the thought of his mother being dragged into this, he was sure he'd audibly scraped the last of the enamel from his molars. "Anyway. I'll be off now that we've come to an understanding. Just, don't screw this up, Cobblepot. This club generates a lot of revenue for the Falcone family. The business is climbing - keep it that way."

"Of course, sir," Oswald murmured. "Are you in need of anything else? I like to be out on the floor to greet the customers when we open at 8."

"Nope, we're good. I'll be going now. Have a booming weekend, friend." He extended his hand and Oswald shook it firmly. 

"Thank you, sir. Always a pleasure." There may have been a smile on Oswald's face, but had Falcone cared to look closely at the man's eyes he'd have seen the gaze of a stone cold killer. _I'll take your place one day old man, and I will take pride in slitting your throat and watching you bleed out like a stuck pig._


End file.
